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FROM   FATHER   TO   SON 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA   •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &   CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 


BY 

MARY  S.  WATTS 

AUTHOR   OF    "NATHAN    BURKE,"    "  THB 
RI8B  OF   JENNIE    CU8HING,"    ETC. 


NetD  gorft 

THE  MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1919 

AU  righia  reterved 


COPTEIGHT,    1919, 

By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  June,  1919, 


*****  «      1       I     i 


J.  S.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


FROM   FATHER   TO  SON 


403422 


\ 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2008  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.arcliive.org/details/fromfathertosonOOwattrich 


FROM   FATHER  TO  SON 


PART   I 
CHAPTER  I 

THE  train  trundled  eastward  through  a  landscape  now, 
at  last,  after  something  like  twenty  hours'  travel, 
beginning  to  show  the  austere  graces  of  New  England. 
There  were  the  evergreens,  and  the  lean  hillsides  set  with 
apple-orchards;  the  white  houses  and  stone  walls  uncon- 
sciously picturesque;  the  clean  tangles  of  wild  growth,  ber- 
ries, herbs,  vines,  brambles  alien  to  inland  soil;  and  in  the 
air,  now  and  again,  a  hint  of  adjacent  seas.  The  September 
day  was  hot;  a  fine  bloom  of  dust  had  settled  over  the 
sleeping-car  plush;  the  through  passengers  who  had  turned 
out  quite  spick  and  spruce  for  breakfast  at  Albany,  now 
appeared  somehow  bedimmed  like  the  window-panes. 
Promenading  the  length  of  the  train  one  received  a  general 
impression  of  valises,  of  rumpled  pillows,  of  old  jaded  maga- 
zines that  were  fresh  yesterday,  of  vagrant  umbrellas,  and 
little  whorls  of  hair-combings,  and  furtive  crumbs  lurking 
under  the  heating-pipes.  On  the  rear  platform  of  the  rear 
car  there  were  camped  two  young  men,  and  an  older  one 
who  might  have  been  their  father;  the  boys  talked  together, 
the  other  sat  with  folded  arms,  surveying  the  retreating 
scenery  with  half-closed  eyes  from  under  his  hat  which  was 
pulled  down  in  front  over  his  thick  whit€  hair  and  his  fore- 
head so  that  it  rested  on  his  eyebrows.  In  the  smoking- 
compartment  behind  there  was  sporadic  conversation  be- 
tween two  or  three  commercial  travellers,  voyaging  in  the 
interests  of  wholesale  carpets,  underwear-mills,  distilleries 
or  what-not,  and  another  man  who  had  the  air  of  being  a 
broker,  banker,  senior  partner  in  a  firm  of  attorneys  or 

B  1 


2  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

some  such  person.  That  is  to  say,  he  was  tall  and  heavily 
built,  upwards  of  fifty  years  old  with  iron-gray  hair,  strongly 
marked  features,  quick,  steady  eyes,  and  noticeably  good 
clothes  and  cigars. 

"  This  part  of  the  trip  gets  to  be  very  tedious,"  he  had 
said  in  assent  to  some  remark  from  one  of  the  commercial 
gentlemen. 

"  Yeh,  you're  not  on  the  train  long  enough  to  settle  down 
to  it.  Me  for  the  long  jumps.  It  tires  you  less  going  from 
Chicago  to  San  Francisco  or  Mexico  City,  three  —  four  days 
on  the  train,  than  these  little  twenty-four-hour  runs." 

*'  That  was  Quinnehasset  we  passed  just  now,"  the  carpet- 
salesman  volunteered.  "  Seventy  miles  more."  They  all 
mechanically  looked  at  their  watches.  There  was  sonae 
stretching  and  yawning;  the  porter  came  around  with  his 
sad-hued  rag  and  made  perfunctory  passes  at  the  window- 
sills. 

"  What  does  Quinnehasset  mean,  does  anybody  know?  " 
asked  the  banker-broker-lawyer-looking  man,  casually. 
"  It's  Indian,  of  course,  but  has  it  ever  been  translated?  " 

They  variously  answered  that  he  could  search  them,  or 
that  they  passed,  or  that  if  it  was  some  kind  of  a  sell,  he 
could  go  ahead  and  spring  it  on  them. 

"  No;  it  was  a  straight  question.  I  was  just  wondering. 
All  these  Indian  names  have  a  meaning.  I've  heard  some 
of  them.  There's  Alabama,  for  instance.  Means,  '  Here  we 
rest! '     It's  interesting." 

"  It's  mighty  suitable,"  said  the  drummer  opposite  him, 
grinning.  "  Alabama's  the  state  for  the  colored  population. 
'  Here  we  rest,'  huh !     They  sure  do !  " 

"  I  suppose  Connecticut  means  '  Here  we  get  out  and 
hustle!'''  the  carpet-man  said  with  a  lazy  laugh;  and  he 
added  irrelevantly:  ''Say,  this  is  the  silly  season,  sure 
enough!     Any  idea  what  Coshocton  means?  " 

"  I  haven't  made  a  study  of  it,"  said  the  first  speaker, 
good-humoredly.  ''  There  are  people  that  think  it  worth 
studying,  though.  I've  heard  them  contend  that  all  our 
American  names  of  towns  and  so  on  ought  to  be  Indian." 

"  Well,  a  good  many  of  'em  are,  and  they're  jaw-breakers 
for  fair.     Ever  hear  that  story  about  the  fellow  that  calls 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  3 

in  the  stenographer  to  dictate  a  letter  to  a  party  saying  that 
he'll  meet  him  in  Schenectady  such  and  such  a  date,  and  the 
girl  wants  to  know  how  to  spell  Schenectady,  and  he  makes 
two  or  three  stabs  at  it,  and  finally  gives  up  and  says:  '  Oh, 
hell!  Make  it  Troy!'" 

The  big  man  laughed  obligingly,  and  confessed  that  he 
himself  felt  none  too  secure  about  the  spelling  of  Schenec- 
tady. ''  I  think  the  Middle  Western  Indian  dialects  must 
have  been  better  sounding  than  these  Atlantic  coast  ones, 
anyhow.  Maybe  it's  because  of  being  born  and  brought  up 
in  the  IMiddle  West;  maybe  I'm  prejudiced.  But  these 
Maine  and  Massachusetts  places  have  all  got  names  like 
squeemash  and  pebunksquot.  Now  Miami,  Muskingum, 
Shawnee  —  those  are  pretty!  " 

"  Sure !  And  Gallon  and  Youngstown,  they're  elegant," 
the  whiskey-drummer  agreed  in  jocular  irony. 

"  They  get  eleganter  the  farther  away  you  get  from  'em, 
hey,  Jakey?  "  suggested  another;  and  then  unintentionally 
put  a  stop  to  the  interchange  of  wit,  by  remarking  in  sur- 
prise that  they  were  slowing  down.  "  What's  that  for?  " 
He  peered  slantwise  through  the  window.  "  Hadley  Junc- 
tion. Quite  a  little  berg,  Hadley.  Three  switches ;  fourteen 
milk-cans,  an  old  woman,  two  boys  and  an  Airedale  terrier 
on  the  platform ;  two  Fords  and  a  wheelbarrow  —  " 

''  Two  Fords  in  a  wheelbarrow,  did  you  say?  " 

''Ain't  you  the  bright  boy,  though!  Here  comes  the 
station-master.  What's  the  excitement?  Let's  ask  the  por- 
ter.    Hey,  George!  " 

But  the  porter  had  vanished,  whisking  off  his  white  jacket, 
and  buttoning  himself  into  his  dark  uniform  coat,  and  look- 
ing tremendously  important  and  busy.  And  in  another 
moment,  the  two  boys  and  the  older  man  came  inside. 

''  We're  hitching  on  a  high  muck-a-muck  in  a  private  car," 
one  of  the  youths  announced.  The  other  spoke  to  the  tall 
man. 

"  It's  the  Stillmans,"  he  said  in  an  undertone,  but  his 
companion  overheard,  and  turned  on  him  in  surprise. 

"  Do  you  know  them?  " 

"Why,  I  —  I  —  yes,  I  know  them,"  said  the  other  boy 
awkwardly,  flushing  all  over  his  face,  which  was  thin  and 


4  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

sensitive,  with  rather  high  features.  One  would  have  inferred 
that  it  embarrassed  him  to  acknowledge  acquaintance  with 
the  Stillmans.  But  the  first  boy  remained  quite  unmoved 
by  the  revelation. 

"  Gee !  "  he  commented  airily,  and  bestowed  his  entire 
attention,  or  as  much  of  it  as  could  be  directed  through  the 
car-window,  on  the  mancEUvres  by  which  the  railroad  mag- 
nate's personal  conveyance  was  now  being  attached  to  the 
train.  This  was  not  done  without  considerable  shoving  and 
shunting,  backing  and  filling,  with  resultant  shaking-up  to 
travellers  of  less  consequence,  and  even,  it  may  fairly  be 
supposed,  to  the  exalted  Stillmans  themselves.  The  train 
crew  might  be  observed  running,  shouting  and  waving  arms ; 
all  the  porters  flourished  up  and  down  ostentatiously.  At 
length  with  one  final  dislocating  jolt  forward  and  back,  a 
kind  of  long  wheezing  sigh  and  universal  settling  down  of 
trucks,  the  train  moved  on;  Hadley  Junction  wheeled  out  of 
sight  around  a  curve. 

The  white-haired  man  had  gone  forward  meanwhile,  pre- 
sumably to  his  berth,  in  which  direction  the  boys  presently 
followed.  The  whiskey-salesman  addressed  the  big  man 
with  some  curiosity:  ''  Which  of  those  two  is  yours?  " 

''  Those  two?  What  two?  Oh,  the  boys!  Why,  the  one 
that  spoke  to  me  just  now.    The  tall  one." 

''  They're  both  tall,"  said  the  other  a  little  contentiously, 
eyeing  the  man  who  knew  Stillman  with  a  species  of  involun- 
tary hostility.  He  felt  a  certain  resentment,  utterly  without 
foundation,  yet  somehow  not  unnatural,  against  this  big- 
bug  —  such  was  the  whiskey-salesman's  phraseology  —  this 
fellow  of  Stillman's  own  crowd,  some  corporation-counsel 
probably  with  a  bank-account  as  long  as  your  arm;  riding 
in  an  everyday  Pullman  and  acting  like  a  plain  man.  As 
he  phrased  it  simply,  it  was  as  if  the  other  had  put  one  over 
on  him.  "  Stillman's  president  of  this  road,"  he  said 
accusingly. 

"Wake  up,  Jake!  Stillman's  president  of  all  the  roads, 
ain't  he?  "  said  the  underwear-drummer  genially.  He,  at 
least,  was  sincerely  indifferent  to  Stillman's  status,  financial 
or  otherwise  —  to  anybody's  status,  for  that  matter.  "  I 
thought  both  of  those  young  fellows  belonged  to  the  old 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  5 

colonel  with  the  white  goatee,"  he  said.  "  They've  been 
sticking  together  so." 

"  What  makes  you  think  he's  a  colonel?  " 

"  Heard  'em  call  him  that.  He  and  the  boy  got  on  at 
Columbus,  and  some  of  their  folks  were  down  at  the  depot 
to  see  them  off." 

"  I  don't  see  how  they  happened  to  let  'em  through  the 
gates.  They  don't,  as  a  usual  thing,"  Jake  said,  still  more 
or  less  sourly. 

"  Well,  army-men,  you  know  —  I  guess  they've  got  some 
—  now  —  prerogatives,  as  you  might  say.  They  don't  have 
to  pay  when  they  travel,  do  they?  Or  else  they  get  special 
rates.    How  is  that,  do  you  know,  Mr. ?  " 

He  looked  inquiringly  to  the  big  man,  who  replied  that  he 
wasn't  sure ;  he  thought  they  had  to  pay  their  own  expenses 
when  going  anywhere  on  their  own  private  business.  Other- 
wise he  believed  Uncle  Sam  footed  the  bills,  or  made  them  an 
allowance  of  some  kind.  "  And  in  conscience  it  seems  as  if 
the  Government  ought  to  do  that  much,"  he  added.  "  Their 
pay  is  very  small." 

''Well,  I  guess  it's  all  it's  worth  — for  most  of  'em  any- 
how," the  carpet-man  said.    "  It's  an  idle  life." 

''  It  wasn't  so  idle  down  here  in  Cuba  ten  or  twelve  years 
ago.  And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  what  with  fever  and  hostile 
natives  and  one  thing  and  another,  our  soldiers  aren't  some- 
times kept  fairly  busy  in  the  Philippines  and  here  and  there. 
Then  again  they're  generally  on  the  job  in  times  of  floods 
and  cyclones  and  so  on,"  said  the  big  man  in  the  manner  of 
an  impartial  observer.  "  Of  course  I  haven't  any  use  for  a 
great  expensive  military  establishment.  That's  all  nonsense 
these  times;  nobody's  going  to  jump  on  the  United  States 
anyhow.    But  I  don't  believe  in  running  down  the  army." 

"  I  wasn't  running  it  down,"  retorted  the  other.  "  I  just 
say  it  isn't  anv  life  for  any  man  that's  got  any  enterprise." 

"  Well,  say,^it's  too  hot  to  start  an  argument,"  the  under- 
wear-man interposed  pacifically.  As  he  spoke,  with  a  time- 
liness comparable  to  the  pre-arranged  effects  of  the  stage, 
there  strolled  in  from  the  private  car  a  second  big,  forcible, 
well-dressed  man  whose  quick  gaze  canvassed  them  all, 
brightening  with  pleased  surprise  as  it  lit  upon  his  twin. 


6  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"Hello,  Lawson!  "  he  said;  and  the  other  got  up  and 
responded:  "Hello,  John!  "  and  they  shook  hands. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  I  thought  you'd  be  down  at 
the  place,  getting  ready  for  the  festivities.  Cutting  it 
pretty  short,  aren't  you?  "  Stillman  said. 

"  Well,  I  had  to  go  back  home  unexpectedly  on  a  business 
matter.  Steven's  been  in  the  office  all  summer,  and  of 
course  while  Galway  was  there  everything  went  along 
smoothly,  but  he  went  off  on  his  vacation  the  first  of  the 
month,  and  directly  this  thing  came  up,  and  the  boy  didn't 
feel  quite  equal  to  it,  so  —  " 

"  So  he  wired  for  Dad.  I  see,"  said  Stillman,  and  smiled. 
"  Mrs.  Rudd  with  you?  " 

"  Oh  Lord,  no !  Nothing  could  persuade  her  to  leave  the 
Clear  Harbor  place,  with  this  wedding  coming  on.  She  never 
goes  home  until  November,  anyway.  Steve's  here,  though. 
He's  on  the  train  somewhere.  He  fell  in  with  some  college 
acquaintance." 

They  sat  down,  with  two  of  those  excellent  cigars  going. 
It  was  now  to  be  seen  that  in  reality,  feature  for  feature, 
they  did  not  look  alike.  The  railroad  president  was  much 
the  older  man,  for  one  thing.  It  was  only  that  in  their  strong 
and  purposeful  faces,  their  movements,  their  voices  and 
manner,  not  domineering,  not  aggressive,  yet  the  voices  and 
manner  of  habitual  authority,  one  recognized  a  kinship  as 
marked  as  that  of  blood  —  the  kinship  of  the  American 
business  man.  His  is  as  truly  a  race  as  any  of  the  dozen 
and  one  from  which  it  is  made  up,  and  possesses  a  racial 
type  resembling  none  of  them,  emphatically  his  own. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  the  feeling  of  having  a  daughter 
married,  Lawson?  " 

"  She  isn't  married  yet.  Why,  it's  hard  to  realize  that  she's 
that  old.  But  Edith's  twenty -two;  they  will  grow  up,  in 
spite  of  you!  That  was  a  very  nice  thing  you  sent.  Edith 
and  all  of  us  appreciated  that  very  much.  You've  heard 
from  her?  She  said  she  was  going  to  sit  down  and  write, 
right  away  —  " 

Mr.  Stillman  made  a  deprecatory  gesture.  "  The  girls 
have  heard,  I  expect.  They  picked  it  out.  Glad  you  like  it," 
he  said,  diplomatically  refraining  from  more  specific  ref- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  7 

erence  to  the  gift,  wherein,  indeed.  Mr.  Rudd  had  set  the 
example.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  neither  father  had  the  slight- 
est recollection  of  what  it  had  been!  They  had  their 
aesthetic  tastes;  Stillman's  collection  of  ancient  armor  and 
weapons  including  our  own  Indian  or  aboriginal  relics,  had 
a  considerable  renown;  the  gardens,  greenhouses  and  arbor- 
etum of  the  Rudd  estate,  dow^n  on  the  New  England  coast 
whither  the  owner  was  now  being  conveyed,  were  most  beau- 
tiful. ''  Journey's  End,"  Mr.  Rudd  called  his  summer  home 
and  loved  it,  played  with  it,  petted  it,  tried  experiments  and 
spent  money  on  it  with  a  royal  hand.  But  since  one  does 
not  make  wedding-presents  of  antique  cross-bows  or  of  new 
hybrid  orchids,  both  gentlemen  on  such  occasions  felt  them- 
selves ill  equipped  for  a  selection,  and  moreover  not  greatly 
interested;  they  invariably  delegated  the  business  to  the 
women  of  the  family,  and  paid  the  bills  without  a  murmur. 

['  George  must  be  down  at  Clear  Harbor  already,"  Rudd 
said  next.    "  They  were  expecting  him  when  I  left." 

''  Yes.  He  timed  his  vacation  so  as  to  take  in  the  wedding 
and  then  go  on  up  to  that  little  place  in  Nova  Scotia  where 
he's  been  the  last  two  seasons.  He  likes  it  up  there;  and  let 
me  tell  you  George  earns  his  rest.  He's  very  hard-working, 
very  conscientious,"  said  the  older  man,  allowing  himself  to 
be  betrayed  into  a  warmth  of  which  the  next  instant  he  was 
visibly  ashamed.  ''  My  own  son,  of  course  —  still  —  "  he 
diffidently  mumbled,  actually  reddening  a  little;  "  Never  has 
given  me  the  least  anxiety.  Lots  of  men  have  trouble  — 
you  know  —  " 

''  George  is  all  right!  "  said  Rudd,  with  sufficient  hearti- 
ness; but  a  momentary  absent  look  in  his  eyes  that  were 
ordinarily  so  alert,  caused  the  other  father  to  condemn  him- 
self inwardly  with  strong  words.  "  I  don't  know  whether 
that  young  Steve  Rudd  is  making  good  or  not.  And  here 
I've  got  to  start  in  gushing  over  George!  "  he  thought.  "  I 
must  be  getting  old."  And  aloud,  precipitately:  "  The  ladies 
are  back  in  the  car.  I  mean  Mrs.  Ballard  and  Mary  — 
they're  with  us  now  —  and  Clara,  of  course.  Come  on  back 
and  see  them,  don't  you  want  to?  " 

"  Why,  I've  got  this  cigar  —  " 

"  Oh,  they  don't  mind  that.    Come  on.    Here,  we'll  leave 


8  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

word  with  the  porter  to  tell  Steve  to  come  back,  too."  Which 
was  done  forthwith,  and  the  two  old  friends  departed  to 
the  rear. 

"  That  must  be  the  Rudd  Chemical  Company  Rudd.  You 
know?  Back  home,"  observed  the  carpet-salesman  after  a 
while.    "  I  kept  thinking  I'd  seen  him  before." 

"  At  a  directors'  meeting,  one  of  those  boards  you  big 
fellows  are  all  on  together,  I  suppose?  Or  maybe  you  had 
a  little  session  with  him,  cutting  coupons,"  said  Jake  in 
sardonic  raillery. 

The  ladies  of  the  Stillman  party  were  taking  the  air  and 
incidentally  an  icy-cold,  delicious  compound  of  lemons,  pine- 
apple, Apollinaris  and  so  on,  in  an  observation  compartment 
at  the  end.  All  three  got  up  with  an  agreeable  little  chorus 
of  "  Oh,  Mr.  Rudd! ''  and  wondering  and  questioning  ejacu- 
lations. A  sooty  black  poodle  shaved  into  the  semblance  of 
a  lion,  with  a  tuft  of  burnt-orange  velvet  ribbon  tied  into  the 
curls  over  his  left  ear,  burst  into  terrific  yappings  which  he 
kept  up  until  Miss  Stillman's  French  woman  who  had  been 
napping  privately  in  a  corner  over  her  novel  —  somebody's 
"  Amours  "  or  "  Mysteres  "  or  "  Intrigues  ''  —  came  and 
took  him  away. 

"  We  supposed  you'd  be  at  '  Journey's  End  '  up  to  your 
ears  in  flowers  and  telegrams  and  silver  tea-trays  and 
things,"  said  Clara,  expressing  —  with  some  difference  — 
the  same  idea  as  her  father.  Miss  Clara  Stillman  was  a  tall 
woman  of  about  thirty -two,  and  she  was  dressed  in  a  cling- 
ing violet  linen  gown,  of  the  style  which  at  this  date  was 
called  ''  Princesse  "  or  sometimes  "  Empire,"  accompanied 
by  a  loose,  half-long  violet  linen  coat,  both  garments  pan- 
elled with  intricate  embroideries ;  there  were  cuffs  and  a  col- 
lar and  jabot  of  incredibly  fine  needlework;  there  was  a 
dashing  little  travelling  toque  of  crushed  violets ;  there  were 
violet  silk  stockings  to  match  showing  above  her  elegantly 
slender  patent-leather  pumps.  It  was  a  creation.  The  color 
accommodated  itself  well  to  her  fair,  accurately  arranged 
hair,  and  her  rather  pallid,  sprightly  face. 

Mr.  Rudd  repeated  his  explanations.  "They  don't  need 
me.  The  only  man  that's  ever  really  wanted  around  at  a 
wedding  is  the  groom,  I  expect,"  he  said  with  a  laugh.  ''  But, 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  9 

anyhow,  Edith's  got  the  whole  thing  worked  out  to  the  last 
detail.  It's  a  wonder  she  hasn't  had  spots  chalked  on  the 
floor  where  every  member  of  the  bridal  party  is  to  stand,  or 
a  schedule  printed  to  tell  us  all  just  in  what  order  we  are  to 
do  everything.  Figured  it  all  out  herself,  you  know.  Per- 
fectly determined  there  shan't  be  any  hitches.  Seriously,  it 
shows  executive  ability.    I  was  amazed." 

"Oh,  Edith's  always  been  so  clever  —  original — ! '* 
Miss  Stillman  murmured  admiringly.  "  I  do  hope  she'll  have 
nice  weather." 

Everybody  in  unison  hoped  she  would  have  nice  weather. 
A  man-servant  of  uncertain  rank,  being  out  of  livery,  ar- 
rived unobtrusively  with  more  tall  glasses  filled,  however, 
with  an  appreciably  stronger  refreshment.  Only  the  gen- 
tlemen took  it,  but  Mrs.  Ballard,  perhaps  stimulated  by 
the  atmosphere,  ventured  circumspectly:  ^' Mr.  Rudd,  do 
tell  us!  This  young  man,  Edith's  futur,  is  he  German  or  is 
he  Italian?  The  name  —  you  know  —  it  seems  to  be  a  — 
a  —  mixture,  somehow.  Brother  John  and  I  had  a  fright- 
fully high-pitched  discussion  —  neither  one  of  us  would 
give  in.  I  offered  a  compromise  on  the  theory  that  his  father 
and  mother  were  of  both  nationalities  —  I  mean  either  — 
you  know  what  I  mean,  so  you  needn't  laugh  —  " 

"  Why,  Gherardi's  an  Austrian,  Mrs.  Ballard.  He's  one 
of  the  military  attaches  at  the  legation;  she  met  him  last 
summer  at  Newport;  that's  when  this  thing  started,"  said 
Rudd,  circumstantially.  "  Curious,  several  people  have 
asked  me  that  same  question,  and  I  can't  see  myself  why 
there  should  be  the  least  doubt  about  it.  Rudolph,  you 
know.    That's  anything  but  Italian." 

"  That's  what  I  said,  Lawson,"  cried  his  friend,  trium- 
phantly. *'  I  told  Ellen  nobody  ever  heard  of  an  Italian 
named  Rudolph.  It  would  have  been  Rodolfo,  or  something 
on  that  order.  And  as  to  the  Gherardi,  they  sometimes  have 
names  like  that  in  Germany  —  or  Austria,  it's  practically 
the  same.  There  was  that  —  let's  see  —  what  was  his  name, 
Ellen?    The  man  that  succeeded  Bismarck  —  ?  " 

"  Von  Caprivi,"  said  Mrs.  Ballard. 

"  That's  it,  Von  Caprivi.  That's  the  same  kind  of  a 
name." 


10  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

*'  Mr.  Gherardi  hasn't  any  von,  though,  has  he?  " 

"  No,  no  title.  I  rather  like  that.  His  not  having  a  title, 
I  mean,"  said  Rudd.  "  There's  too  much  of  this  title  busi- 
ness. In  Germany,  as  I  understand  it  —  and  maybe  every- 
where on  the  continent  —  if  there's  a  count  or  a  baron  in  the 
family,  all  the  sons  are  counts  or  barons  —  might  have 
half  a  dozen  brother  counts.  Whenever  IVe  been  over 
there,  I've  noticed  how  thick  the  titles  were,  and  I  suppose 
that  explains  it.  Seems  absurd  to  an  American  —  and 
rather  cheap,  rather  cheap.  Gherardi's  people  are  more  like 
ourselves.  They're  bankers  in  Buda-Pesth;  very  solid 
people." 

*'  Pesth?  Oh,  I  know  somebody  there.  Count  and  Count- 
ess Jascha  —  charming  people.  We  met  them  in  London, 
and  afterwards  when  she  heard  we  were  in  Vienna,  she 
wrote  and  insisted  on  our  going  to  spend  a  week  with  them 
at  their  summer  home,  their  wonderfully  interesting  old 
castle  in  the  Tyrol.  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Gherardi  knows  them. 
I'll  ask  him.    Don't  you  remember  the  Jaschas,  papa?  " 

Mr.  Stillman  grunted.  ''  That  was  one  of  the  times  when 
you  and  your  mother  were  over  by  yourselves,"  he  said, 
swirled  the  whiskey  and  water  around  in  his  tumbler,  and 
finished  it.  It  was  five  years  since  his  wife's  death ;  she  had 
been  a  highly  ornamental  person  in  her  day,  and  as  useful, 
probably,  as  Mr.  Stillman  desired  her  to  be.  Very  likely  he 
was  not  exacting  about  his  womankind,  what  they  did, 
spent,  wore,  or  where  they  went ;  he  never  had  the  time.  Un- 
like his  friend  Rudd,  he  had  not  begun  life  by  stepping  into 
the  shoes  of  an  extremely  well-shod  parent.  Stillman  came 
up  from  the  ranks,  came  up  from  the  bottom,  came  up  from 
nothing;  the  sixty-odd  years  of  his  life  had  been  passed  in 
that  savage  and  precarious  business  of  coming  up;  and  no 
incident  not  directly  connected  with  it,  not  even  the  inci- 
dents of  marrying  and  of  burying  his  wife,  impressed  him 
much  or  abode  significantly  in  his  memory. 

"  I  daresay  Captain  Gherardi  —  it's  Captain  Gherardi,  by 
the  way,  so  he  has  a  title  after  all,  he's  in  the  army  like  all 
the  rest  of  these  foreign  young  men  —  I  daresay  you  and  he 
will  find  some  mutual  friends.  He  seems  to  know  a  great 
many  people  everywhere,  the  diplomatic   corps  generally 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  11 

do,"  Rudd  was  saying,  in  reply  to  Miss  Stillman.  And  here 
young  Steven  came  in. 

He  spoke  to  Mr.  Stillman  rather  shyly,  and  refused  the 
highball,  and  sat  down  eagerly  by  the  Ballard  girl,  as  was 
natural,  considering  that  she  was  the  only  person  of  his  own 
age  in  the  company.  He  must  have  begun  at  once  telling  her 
about  his  late  companions,  judging  by  the  scraps  of  their  talk 
that  reached  their  elders  —  "  Jack  Burke  "  —  "  Awfully  nice 
chap  "  — ''  Why,  class  of  '07.  Yes,  ahead  of  mine,  but  he 
came  back  for  the  law  course.  Boiled  it  down  to  two  years 
instead  of  four.  That's  going  some!  "  —  "  His  father's  been 
stationed  at  Panama  "  —  "  Lived  all  over  everywhere  "  — 
and  so  on,  and  on,  with  the  two  young  heads,  the  boy's  sleek 
fair  one,  and  the  girl's  loose,  wavy  mop  of  chestnut  brown, 
close  together.  Mr.  Steven  Rudd's  shyness  ceased,  as  one 
might  say,  conspicuoush^  to  trouble  him  in  Miss  Mary  Bal- 
lard's society;  but  then  it  would  have  been  ridiculous  for 
anyone  to  feel  shy  with  so  round,  dimpled,  short-nosed  and 
obviously  unimportant  a  person. 

"  Why  didn't  you  bring  your  friend  back  here,  Steve?  " 
said  Stillman  hospitably.  ''  Go  and  get  him  now,  why  don't 
you?  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Stillman,  it  would  be  jolly,  but 
they're  getting  off  this  next  stop  —  Clam  Beach.  Mrs. 
Burke's  there  —  "  He  went  on  talking  to  Mary.  ''  Do  you 
know,  it's  only  twenty-five  or  thirty  miles  from  our  place, 
no^  more  than  an  hour  in  a  machine.  You  can  go  straight€r 
than  by  the  railroad;  it  winds  all  around.  And  the  roads 
are  fair.  I'm  going  over.  Look  here,  I'd  like  awfully  well 
to  have  Burke  meet  you.  Can  I  bring  him  over  to  the 
hotel?  After  this  everlasting  wedding's  over,  of  course. 
How  long  do  you  think  you'll  stop?  " 

''Why,  I  don't  know  —  "  said  Mary,  in  a  slightly  lower 
voice,  hesitating,  glancing  at  her  mother;  and  the  latter 
lady,  who  was  perfectly  capable  of  listening  to  two  con- 
versations at  once,  and  of  joining  in  either  absolutely  d 
propos,  immediately  struck  in  with  the  information  that 
Clear  Harbor  was  a  delightful  place  —  such  a  nice  hotel  — 
she  had  always  liked  it  so  much,  partly,  no  doubt,  because 
of  having  so  many  friends  whose  summer  homes  were  in  the 
neighborhood  — 


12  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  I  wish  we  could  have  asked  everybody  to  the  house," 
said  the  elder  Rudd  with  genuine  regret.  "  But  you  know 
how  those  things  are.  We've  got  all  the  family,  naturally. 
I  never  before  realized  what  a  posse  the  Rudd  connection 
made  when  you  got  them  all  together.  And  there's  the 
bridal-party  —  " 

''  All  the  men  are  going  to  bunk  on  the  sleeping-porches, 
or  in  the  big  room  over  the  boat-house,"  Steven  broke  in 
gleefully.     ''  I  don't  know  how  Edith's  arranged  for  the ' 
girls;  they  need  more  dressing-room  accommodations  than 
men." 

"  Oh,  they'll  have  loads  of  fun.  You  always  do  when 
you're  all  crowded  in,"  Mary  assured  him.  They  went  on 
talking,  leaving  the  question  of  the  Ballards'  stay  at  Clear 
Harbor  hanging. 

Clam  Beach  was  reached;  the  Burkes,  father  and  son, 
descended,  and  Steven  rapped  on  the  window,  and  the  two 
saw  him  and  uttered  a  wordless  farewell,  smiling  with  lifted 
hats  from  among  their  valises  and  golf-bags  and  fishing 
gear.  The  train  bowled  on;  and  erelong  arrived  at  the  Clear 
Harbor  station  in  a  resounding  melee  of  baggage-wagons,  big 
motor-cars,  middle-sized  motor-cars,  little  motor-cars  and 
some  few  horse-vehicles,  of  house  servants,  hotel  servants, 
young  men  and  girls  slouchily  stylish  in  every  known  variety 
of  sporting- costume,  numberless  dogs,  bicycles,  yachtsmen, 
sailors  on  shore  leave  from  the  Government  cruiser  down  the 
bay,  and  summer  residents  or  vacationists  from  half  a  dozen 
less  select  resorts  scattered  along  the  neighboring  beaches. 
It  was  among  these  latter  gentry  that  the  Stillman  party 
augmented  by  the  Rudds,  happened  to  disembark;  and  now 
an  odd,  uncomfortable  encounter  took  place.  That  is  to 
say,  as  they  were  exchanging  final  civilities,  and  just  as  the 
Rudd  chauffeur  had  come  up  and  touched  his  hat  and  taken 
the  Rudd  bags,  and  while  some  Stillman  satellite  with 
equally  impassive  good  manners  was  performing  the  same 
office  for  the  Stillmans,  and  a  second  after  George  Stillman, 
big  and  clean  in  nice  white  flannels,  had  come  shouldermg 
through  the  crowd  and  got  up  to  them  —  just  at  this  moment, 
there  caromed  into  Mr.  Rudd's  immediate  presence  —  quite 
unintentionally,  as  was  at  once  evident  — a  seedy  person 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  13 

with  an  ill-used  hat,  who  began  to  apologize,  and  interrupted 
himself  to  ejaculate:  "What!    Laicson!  " 

Mr.  Rudd  ejaculated  too,  but  unintelligibly,  and  stared, 
out  of  countenance  in  a  surprise  so  perceptibly  hostile  as  to 
put  the  others  out  of  countenance,  too;  one  and  all,  except 
Stillman  senior,  they  began  to  look  elsewhere  and  to  be  very 
busy,  scattering  off  in  haste,  and  reuniting  farther  away. 
The  boy  Steven  stood  looking  from  his  father  to  the  stranger, 
wonderingly. 

"I  —  I  hadn't  any  idea  you  were  staying  here  —  I  — 
er  —  "  Mr.  Rudd  fairly  stuttered.    ''I  —  um  —  er  —  " 

"  I'm  not  staying.  I'm  going,"  said  the  man,  recovering 
much  more  promptly.  "  You  live  around  here  somewhere, 
don't  you?  Seems  to  me  I  recollect  hearing  you  had  your 
summer  place  in  this  neighborhood.  I'm  at  Clam  Beach; 
just  ran  over  to  the  Harbor  this  afternoon  for  the  sail."  All 
of  which  speech,  he  uttered  not  glibly,  but  with  a  kind  of 
deliberate  fluency,  as  if  in  the  humane  desire  to  give  the 
other  time  to  get  over  his  embarrassment.  And  to  be  sure, 
Mr.  Rudd,  by  the  end  of  it,  had  himself  in  hand  again, 
though  he  could  not  strike  the  newcomer's  admirably  casual 
tone. 

''My  son  Steven,"  he  said  stiffly,  with  a  slight  gesture; 
and  with  another:  "  Steve,  this  is  your  —  "  Here  he  halted 
as  one  who  sits  down  reluctant  to  a  distasteful  dish.  What- 
ever it  was,  Lawson  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  swallow 
it.    "  This  is  Eugene,"  he  announced  at  last. 

Steven,  thus  enlightened,  muttered  some  sort  of  howd'ye- 
do,  in  a  miserable  uncertainty  as  to  whether  he  was  expected 
to  shake  hands  or  not,  and  reddened  painfully  before  the 
other's  comprehending  grin.  But  "  Eugene,"  who,  however 
disqualified  otherwise  for  polite  society,  appeared  to  possess 
a  real  intuition  about  sparing  people  trouble,  settled  the 
young  man's  difficulty  by  thrusting  both  of  his  own  fists 
deep  down  into  his  trouser-pockets,  and  giving  him  a  brief 
nod. 

John  Stillman,  meanwhile,  after  one  quick  survey  of  the 
stranger,  walked  off  with  a  meditative  expression  to  where 
the  family  awaited  him.  He  had  some  idea  of  who  this 
"  Eugene  "  was;  a  retentive  memory  and  unusual  powers  of 


14  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

observation  had  been  valuable  assets  of  Mr.  Stillman's  all 
his  life.  Clara,  from  the  automobile,  expressed  warm 
approval  as  her  father  advanced  without  either  undue  hurry 
or  undue  deliberation. 

''  Papa,  you're  a  wonder!  It  must  have  looked  dreadfully 
pointed  the  way  all  the  rest  of  us  scurried  away  without  a 
word.  But  I  didn't  know  what  else  to  do.  It  was  so  awk- 
ward—that impossible-looking  man!  However,  Mr.  Rudd 
was  so  upset  himself,  I  don't  believe  he  noticed." 

"  No,  I  don't  believe  he  noticed,"  her  father  agreed  drily. 
*'  Have  a  cigar,  George?  " 

"  Your  taking  it  in  such  a  matter-of-fact  way,  though, 
smoothed  everything  over,"  Clara  pursued.  She  caught  at 
another  thought:  ''  Oh,  you  know  him.  You  know  all  kinds 
of  people." 

After  the  short  pause  which  Mr.  Stillman  had  formed  the 
habit  of  making  before  he  answered  any  question  definitely, 
he  said:  "Why,  yes,  I  think  I  know  him.  I  think  I  re- 
member him,  that  is.  He's  some  relation  of  Rudd's  —  a 
cousin  or  something.  Name's  Rudd,  too,  as  I  recollect.  He 
hasn't  been  around  for  years,  though  —  fifteen  years  any- 
how." .        .     , 

"  What  was  the  matter?    Did  he  do  somethmg?  "  mquired 

Clara  brightly. 

"  I  never  asked,"  said  the  railroad  man. 

George  Stillman  made  a  cryptic  remark.  "  I  didn't  know 
they  allowed  it  to  be  brought  into  the  State  of  Maine,"  he 
saii 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  foundations  of  the  Rudd  fortune,  by  this  present 
date  a  solid  and  stalwart  edifice,  were  laid  as  far  back 
as  the  decade  of  1840- oO  by  that  fine  old  family 
remedy,  Rudd's  Specific.  Ante-bellum  shelves  were  crowded 
with  the  tall,  rectangular  bottles  it  came  in,  with  a  label 
gummed  up  and  down  each  of  the  wider  surfaces,  setting 
forth  its  virtues  as  a  cure  or  preventive  for  so  many  human 
ills  that  the  list  might  almost  have  served  for  a  medical 
dictionary,  beginning  as  it  did  with  Anthrax  and  Asthma, 
Biliousness,  Bleeding  of  the  Nose,  Cancer,  Consumption, 
Catarrh.  Dysentery,  Diabetes,  and  so  on  down  through  such 
occult  troubles  as  Ricketts  and  Shingles  to  "  all  Zymotic 
diseases,"  with  which  it  victoriously  wound  up.  David  Rudd 
was  the  patentee  and  sole  owner;  he  w\as  a  young  man  in 
his  early  twenties  when  he  first  conferred  the  benefits  of 
Rudd's  Specific  on  a  suffering  world,  and  for  upwards  of 
thirty  years,  he  continued  the  humanitarian  labor  of  making 
and  dispensing  it  under  that  name,  until  the  taste  of  the  new 
generation  required  a  change.  Other  times,  other  manners. 
The  Specific  became  the  Pancurata  in  a  round  bottle  inside 
a  cylinder  of  corrugated  pasteboard,  lined  with  a  leaflet  of 
printed  directions  for  its  use,  wherein,  it  may  be  noted,  not 
nearly  so  many,  or  such  diverse  and  magical  qualities  were 
ascribed  to  it.  Scarcely  one  person  in  ten  remarked  the 
inconspicuous  statement  that  it  was  manufactured  by  the 
Rudd  Chemical  Company;  but  by  that  time,  that  is  about 
the  year  1878,  the  Specific  or  the  Pancurata  —  a  patent- 
medicine  by  any  name  smells  just  as  sweet  —  had  ceased  to 
be  the  main  output  of  the  Rudd  concern;  drugs,  toilet- 
w^aters,  soaps,  salts,  perfumes,  facial  creams,  or  the  ingre- 
dients of  all  these  things  were  what  the  firm  now  purveyed 
to  a  vast  and  constantly  increasing  clientele,  both  w^iolesale 
and  retail.  And  not  long  thereafter  the  Specific  followed 
its  creator  into  what  may  be  called  a  respected  oblivion. 

15 


16  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

But  meanwhile,  David  not  only  made  a  great  deal  of 
money  with  the  medicine  and  other  ventures,  he  also  got 
married  and  raised  a  family  of  five  children  —  or  tried  to 
raise  them.  David  junior,  the  oldest  boy,  ran  away  to  join 
the  army  at  sixteen  years  of  age  and  died  of  typhus  in 
Andersonville  prison  in  1863,  after  only  a  few  months  of 
soldiering.  Hester  was  another  who  did  not  live  to  grow  up ; 
but  Elihu  and  Susan  and  Lawson  —  they  came  in  the  order 
named  —  had  better  luck.  They  were  all  the  children  of  the 
first  Mrs.  David  Rudd,  Eliza  Perry  that  was. 

Lawson  Rudd  enjoyed  the  distinction  of  being  the  first 
member  of  the  Rudd  family  to  be  photographed;  there 
existed  daguerreotypes  of  all  the  rest  —  Mrs.  Rudd  in  a 
plaid  silk  dress  and  black  thread  lace  shawl,  and  a  bonnet 
with  bunches  of  flowers  over  each  ear ;  David  of  the  Specific 
in  trousers  plaided  too,  terrifically  plaided,  and  a  double- 
breasted  waistcoat  of  crimson  velvet  with  cut  crystal  but- 
tons, and  a  velvet  collar  to  his  coat,  and  that  ministerial 
expression  common  to  all  our  ancestors  of  that  date  when- 
ever they  posed;  Hester,  a  meagre  child  in  tarlatan  flounces 
and  a  satin  bodice,  her  little  thin  slats  of  arms  distressingly 
obvious ;  little  David  and  little  Elihu  with  round  collars  and 
sleek  hair.  They  were  all  stacked  away  in  their  embossed 
morocco  cases,  in  a  seldom-visited  corner  of  the  attic 
shelves;  there  was  really  no  other  place  for  the  old  things 
in  the  elegantly  ornate  or  elegantly  severe  "  period"  rooms 
of  the  present  Rudd  house.  For  that  matter,  Lawson's  own 
likeness  taken  by  the  new  process  at  a  time  when  he  himself 
was  still  quite  new,  only  served  now  as  a  means  of  entertain- 
ment, arousing  ribald  laughter  rather  than  filial  respect. 
Could  that  pudgy,  solemn  kid  with  the  preposterous  visored 
cap,  and  the  rows  of  buttons  all  over  him  —  could  that  really 
be  Dad?  Pipe  the  laced  shoes  and  the  white  stockings  on 
him,  will  you?    Some  sport! 

Nevertheless,  Lawson  looked  at  you  straight  from  the 
blurred,  sallow  bit  of  card  with  the  same  look,  resolute,  self- 
confident  and  unafraid  if  a  good  deal  harder  and  minus  the 
innocence  and  openness,  with  which  he  met  the  world  to-day. 
If  he  harked  back  to  that  baby  at  all,  or  to  the  headstrong, 
high-tempered,  cocksure,  intolerant  boy  who  had  succeeded 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  17 

the  little  fellow,  it  was  probably  with  the  wonder,  the  con- 
temptuous sympathy,  the  lurking  shame  you  and  I  also  feel 
for  our  younger  selves.  He  could  not  remember  much 
about  him  except  that  he  had  been  very  fond  in  his  dumb, 
boyish  way  of  his  mother  and  of  his  sister  Hester  who  died ; 
he  used  to  pull  her  about  in  her  little  carriage,  and  play  with 
her ;  and  of  a  dog  named  Gyp  that  died  too.  He  remembered 
wanting  to  be  a  pirate,  and  later  on  actually  having  dreams 
of  being  a  missionary!  And  he  remembered  very  distinctly 
the  day  his  brother  David  took  him  around  behind  the  wood- 
shed and  told  him  about  his  design  to  run  away  and  enlist; 
Lawson  was  not  to  breathe  a  word  about  it  until  it  was  all 
over;  and  then  he  must  say  to  Ma  and  the  folks  that  David 
left  good-bye  for  all  of  them,  and  that  he  wouldn't  have  gone 
off  without  saying  it  himself  if  he  could  have  helped  it;  and 
that  he  would  write.  The  small  eight-year-old  promised 
and  performed  all  this  faithfully,  and  took  a  thrashing  for 
his  part  in  the  crime  without  a  whimper. 

"  How  long  was  it  before  Grandpa  and  Grandma  found 
out?  "  Lawson's  own  son  asked  him  upon  hearing  this  tale. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  a  week  perhaps.  They  missed  him 
at  once,  of  course,  but  they  thought  he  had  gone  to  see  your 
grandmother's  brother,  Uncle  Jed;  he  was  living  in  Chilli- 
cothe  at  that  time.  It  took  longer  for  news  to  travel  around 
in  those  days." 

"  What  did  you  say  when  they  asked  you?  I  mean  all  that 
week  before  they  found  out?  " 

"  I  expect  I  lied,  Steven.  It  was  all  very  wrong,  you  see. 
Children  ought  not  to  disobey  or  deceive  their  father  —  or 
their  mother,  either,  of  course,"  Mr.  Rudd  interpolated 
hastily  by  an  afterthought.  "  Your  uncle  died  afterwards, 
and  I  suppose  I  was  partly  to  blame.  So  you  see  I  got  worse 
punishment  even  than  the  whipping,  and  I  deserved  it,"  said 
Lawson.  anxious  to  point  a  moral. 

"  Huh!  "  said  little  Steven  thoughtfully.  The  father  who 
unwillingly  knew  deep  in  his  heart  that  if  he  had  the  thing 
to  do  over  again,  he  w^ould  have  acted  precisely  as  on  that 
first  and  only  time,  wondered  uneasily  if  the  boy  knew  it 
too. 

But  this  conversation  took  place  years  later.    We  have  to 


18  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

consider  now  young  Lawson  Rudd,  who  was  growing  up 
and  going  to  school  and  getting  ready  for  college,  all  during 
the  grave  years  of  secession  and  civil  war  and  reconstruc- 
tion. David  Rudd's  money  must  have  doubled,  quadrupled 
through  that  time.  He  set  Elihu,  who  like  his  father  was  a 
man  of  action  with  no  turn  for  book-learning,  up  in  business, 
sent  Susie  to  Europe,  lavished  diamonds  and  seal-skin 
sacques  and  rich  equipages,  those  classic  desires  of  Victorian 
femininity,  upon  his  wife.  Lawson  had  a  riding-horse,  he 
had  a  tutor,  he  had  pearl  studs,  he  was  entered  at  Harvard. 
There  was  a  billiard-room  at  the  top  of  the  house,  which  had 
besides  a  marble  bathroom;  there  were  double-parlors  all 
festooned  with  brocatelle,  all  glittering  with  mantel-mirrors 
and  cut-glass  prisms.  There  were  expensive  oil-pamtmgs, 
fruit  and  game  pieces  for  the  dining-room,  landscapes  and 
Holy  Families  for  the  parlors;  Mr.  Rudd  commissioned  a 
friend  who  was  in  the  business  to  select  them  for  him  regard- 
less of  cost.  The  stately  regiments  of  books  drawn  up 
around  the  library  walls  were  furnished  him  in  like  manner. 
Lawson  was  the  sole  person  who  ever  tried  to  read  them, 
and  he  did  not  get  far,  seeing  they  were  mostly  encyclo- 
paedias, sermons,  and  treatises  on  various  subjects  of  an 
equally  profound  depth  and  dryness,  with  never  a  word 
about  gardening,  or  farming,  or  raising  live-stock,  which 
were  things  of  real  interest  to  him. 

Mrs.  David  Rudd  died  in  1870.  She  had  been  a  good  wife 
and  mother,  an  earnest  church-worker,  a  fine  cook,  a  man- 
aging, efficient  housekeeper,  and  so,  of  course,  must  have 
been  greatly  missed  and  regretted.  The  family,  however, 
bore  up  under  their  loss  philosophically,  as  we  all  must, 
whether  or  no.  David  kept  on  turning  over  dollars.  Law- 
son  went  to  Harvard,  Susan  married  after  two  years  or  so, 
and  went  to  Denver  to  live.  This  last  event  must  have  left 
the  house  rather  lonely  for  the  two  men;  but  what  would 
you  have  had  the  young  girl  do?  Neither  her  father  nor 
brother  were  so  selfish  as  to  want  her  to  give  up  her  life  to 
making  a  home  for  them;  or,  looking  at  it  in  another^and  less 
amiable  way,  they  may  have  been  each  so  occupied  with 
his  own  life  that  they  were  not  over-interested  in  Susie's. 
Lawson  being  away  at  college  for  the  better  part  of  four 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  19 

years,  and  David  completely  taken  up  with  business.  At 
any  rate,  Susie  married,  Lawson  graduated,  David  Rudd 
was  a  hard-and-fast  widower  for  almost  half  a  decade,  the 
world  was  getting  ready  for  the  Centennial  celebration  at 
Philadelphia,  when  the  next  blow  fell  on  the  Rudd  family. 
Mr.  Rudd  married  again. 

It  need  not  be  referred  to  in  this  dramatic  metaphor,  but 
for  the  melancholy  fact  that  David  did  not  select  an  earnest 
church-worker  this  time,  or  a  fine  cook  and  housewife,  or 
a  person  who  gave  the  slightest  promise  of  being  a  good  wife 
and  mother.  The  second  Mrs.  Rudd's  recommendations 
were  youth  —  she  was  twenty-three  or  -four,  only  a  very 
little  older  than  her  bachelor  stepson  —  a  buxom  figure, 
fresh  complexion,  big  bright  eyes,  abundant  glossy  black 
hair,  and  so  forth.  It  had  been  a  long  time  since  the  first 
Mrs.  David's  complexion  was  fresh,  or  her  eyes  bright; 
good  works  do  not  necessarily  contribute  to  good  looks,  and 
perhaps  there  is  not  much  real  satisfaction  to  be  got  out  of 
hanging  jewels  and  opulent  garments  on  a  faded  woman  of 
fifty  with  a  switch,  and  a  well-established  snore.  Are  we 
not  all  poor  creatures?  The  new  lady,  before  her  marriage, 
was  a  Miss  May  me  Bell,  a  positive  nobody  from  nowhere; 
that  is,  she  was  reported  to  be  the  daughter  of  some  rooming- 
house  woman  down  among  the  tenements  which  constituted 
part  of  the  Rudd  real  estate.  That  must  have  been  where 
David  ran  across  her;  the  w^hole  affair  was  entirely  respect- 
able, naturally.  Far  better  to  land  him  outright,  and  acquire 
a  legitimate,  indisputable  title  to  at  least  a  third  of  that 
same  real  estate,  than  to  risk  any  other  connection.  She 
might  be  harmless  enough ;  but  unsuitable  was  no  word  for 
the  match.  It  was  a  ghastly  piece  of  folly.  Society  sympa- 
thized sincerely  with  that  poor  young  Lawson  upon  whom 
it  was  bound  to  come  harder,  so  people  said,  than  on  the 
other  members  of  the  family.  The  brother  and  sister  had 
homes  of  their  own ;  they  need  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
interloper  unless  they  chose;  but  Lawson's  home  was  spoiled, 
and  he  had  to  stand  it.  It  was  a  shame,  about  which  they 
declared  themselves  to  feel  more  deeply  because  nobody 
could  condole  with  him.  Nobody  could  even  mention  the 
deplorable  event  to  him  unless  he  himself  introduced  it. 


20  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

And  there  were  not  wanting  those  who  pointed  out  the 
strangeness  of  the  fact  that  it  was  the  father  who  at  sixty 
or  thereabouts  had  made  a  fool  of  himself,  instead  of  the 
twenty-year-old  son.  They  said,  however,  that  Rudd  junior 
was  a  noteworthy  example  of  the  old  head  on  young  shoul- 
ders; a  cautious,  stubborn  lad. 

For  once  society  was  right.  His  father's  marriage  did 
come  harder  on  Lawson  than  on  the  rest.  Elihu  received 
the  disastrous  news  with  a  sort  of  philosophical  levity  after 
the  first  stunning  shock  of  surprise.  "Well,  after  all — ! 
You  can't  blame  the  old  gentleman  for  wanting  to  have  a 
little  fun  before  he  passes  on,"  said  he.  "  Why  shouldn't  he? 
He's  worked  hard,  and  he's  entitled  to  his  play.  I  suppose 
he  just  realized  all  of  a  sudden  that  he'd  better  hustle,  or 
he'd  be  too  late?    Can't  live  but  once." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  very  well  for  you  to  laugh  now,^^  his  wife 
rebuked  him.  "  You  may  not  feel  so  much  like  laughing 
after  a  while.  That  woman  will  probably  get  everything  he 
has  away  from  him.    That's  what  she  married  him  for." 

''  Not  everything,  'Stell,  not  everything.  Father's  not  in 
his  dotage  yet,  by  any  manner  of  means.  And  anyway 
haven't  I  supported  you  in  pretty  fair  comfort  this  far?  I 
guess  we'll  always  be  able  to  scratch  along  on  what  we 
have,"  said  Elihu,  who  indeed  was  a  chip  of  the  old  block, 
and  it  may  be  a  little  proud  of  his  success  as  a  money- 
maker. 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  you  know  what  I  mean.  I'm  thinking  about 
the  children's  rights.  Here  she'll  come  in  with  her  claims, 
and  I  suppose  there  won't  be  any  way  to  get  around  giving 
her  a  share,  if  she  doesn't  get  the  whole.  It's  abominably 
unjust,  if  it  is  the  law.     I  don't  see  why  —  " 

"  Damn  it,  Estelle,  I  believe  you'd  rather  this  girl  had 
gotten  hold  of  him  without  any  marriage!  "  said  Elihu 
Rudd;  he  was  rough  in  his  speech  at  times.  "  I  believe  you'd 
be  glad  if  it  had  all  been  disreputable  —  " 

"  Well?  "  said  Mrs.  Elihu,  savagely.  "  I  don't  see  why  it 
couldn't  have  been.  Then  it  wouldn't  have  made  any  differ- 
ence, or  any  trouble." 

"Don't  you  believe  it!  I  don't  want  any  common-law 
complications,  after  the  old  man's  dead.     Will-cases  are 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  21 

jury-cases  in  this  state,  and  the  juries  invariably  side  with 
the  woman.    I  tell  you  we're  lucky  as  it  is." 

Susie  expressed  herself  with  even  more  vehemence  than 
Elihu's  wife.  She  called  it  a  disgrace,  marriage  or  no  mar- 
riage; she  wrote  intimating  that  a  guardian  should  be 
appointed  for  old  David;  she  orated  about  her  children's 
rights,  and  prophesied  the  direst  calamities  in  store  for 
every  Rudd  to  the  ultimate  generation;  she  proclaimed  the 
entire  family  disrupted  and  herself  estranged  from  her 
father  forever,  and  in  fact  did  everything  in  her  power 
towards  the  disruption  and  estrangement  except  to  refuse 
the  very  handsome  allowance  Mr.  Rudd  continued  to  send 
her  month  in  and  month  out  with  an  exasperating  magnanim- 
ity—  or  indifference.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  ever  read  her 
letters;  when  all  was  said,  David  was  still,  even  as  his 
elder  son  had  gauged  him,  a  shrewd  and  tolerably  hard  old 
man,  who  knew  the  world  and  could  make  a  close  guess  at 
what  his  children  thought  of  him.  Nor  should  anyone  con- 
demn them  off-hand  for  being  mercenary  or  selfish.  Estelle 
and  Susan  were  no  Lear's  daughters;  Elihu  was  as  right- 
minded  as  the  average  man,  and  no  more  self-seeking.  They 
wanted  to  do  their  duty;  and  their  indignation,  their  anxi- 
eties were  wholly  natural. 

But  for  Lawson,  the  thing  was  an  intolerably  grotesque 
tragedy.  With  the  distorting  self-consciousness  of  youth  he 
felt  himself  the  target  for  sneers  and  ridicule  equally  with 
the  two  chief  performers.  His  father's  foolishness  some- 
how reflected  on  him,  in  Lawson's  perverse  judgment;  it  was 
his  pride  that  writhed.  There  was  perhaps  something  physi- 
cal which  he  could  not  have  controlled,  had  he  tried,  in  the 
young  man's  revolt.  His  father  was  an  old  man;  he  ought 
to  be  over  and  done  with  all  things  fleshly ;  it  was  disgusting. 
Lawson  hated  his  stepmother,  not  because  she  had  taken 
his  mother's  place,  nor  because  he  grudged  her  any  share  of 
the  property;  he  hated  her  merely  for  existing  at  all,  for 
being  a  gross,  good-looking,  good-natured,  bouncing  animal, 
mortally  afraid  of  himself;  he  hated  her  calling  him  abjectly 
"  Mr.  Lawson,"  fully  conscious  that  he  would  have  hated 
her  just  as  much  for  daring  to  call  him  Lawson.  When  the 
nauseating  fact  became  evident  that  there  was  going  to  be 


22  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

another  Rudd  added  to  the  family,  the  young  man  escaped 
in  desperation  by  getting  himself  transferred  to  their  New 
Orleans  office.  He  had  already  displayed  the  inherited  apti- 
tude for  business;  those  changes  from  the  Specific  to  the 
Pancurata  and  the  elimination  of  the  name  of  Rudd  were 
due  to  Lawson's  taste  or  sagacity,  and  he  now  began  a 
course  of  other  well-considered  reforms,  improvements, 
alterations  of  policy.  The  new  plants  at  Mobile  and  Kansas 
City  were  his  idea,  and  it  was  he  who  took  the  first  steps 
towards  extending  their  trade  to  Mexico  and  the  South 
American  states,  during  the  four  or  five  years  of  his  stay  in 
New  Orleans.  When  his  father  died,  it  seemed  natural  that 
Lawson,  young  as  he  was,  should  be  called  home  to  assume 
the  management  of  the  company,  jointly  with  Elihu;  the 
brothers  amicably  divided  the  country  by  the  Rockies,  and 
each  controlled  the  section  of  his  choice.  They  left  the 
widow  in  unquestioned  possession  of  the  Rudd  homestead, 
and  of  the  just  and  suitable  but  not  at  all  lavish  provision 
which  that  canny  old  David,  vindicating  Elihu's  judgment, 
had  made  for  her  and  for  her  little  boy  Eugene. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  automobile  rounded  to  before  the  "  Colonial " 
fagade  of  the  house  which  was  brick  of  a  mellow 
ruddiness  with  ranges  of  small-paned  windows  rimmed 
with  cut  stone  alow  and  aloft,  and  a  mathematical  distribu- 
tion of  chimneys.  Lawson  and  his  son  got  out  and  passed 
between  the  round  barberry  bushes  simulating  ancient  box 
on  either  hand  of  the  door,  which  was  a  door  in  strict  keeping 
with  a  fan-light  and  brass  knocker.  His  house,  like  every- 
thing else  with  which  Lawson  had  anything  to  do,  like  his 
clothes,  his  amusements,  his  way  of  life,  was  unpretending 
yet  obviously  expensive,  with  a  peculiarly  thorough  expen- 
siveness  extending  to  the  most  minute  detail.  The  approach 
to  it  was  through  a  kind  of  informal  farm-like  park;  the 
celebrated  gardens  lay  to  the  rear  so  that  they  could  be 
looked  upon  in  privacy  from  the  terraces  and  breezy  bal- 
conies, pergolas,  and  so  forth,  which  the  best-known  archi- 
tect of  the  times  in  conjunction  with  the  best-known  land- 
scape artist  had  constructed  at  a  cost  which  Mr.  Rudd 
would  have  deemed  it  the  extreme  of  purse-proud  silliness  to 
mention.  No  man  ever  made  so  much  money  who  was  so 
genuinely  indifferent  to  it  merely  as  money.  What  Lawson 
craved  was  beauty  and  complete  physical  comfort ;  and  with 
him  the  dollars  were  a  means,  never  an  end. 

They  had  had  a  rather  silent  ride  from  the  station,  the 
father  scowling  a  little  over  what  were  perhaps  unwelcome 
memories  roused  by  the  late  meeting,  and  the  son  revolving 
a  dozen  questions,  not  one  of  which  could  he  bring  himself 
to  ask.  Steven  was  not  afraid  of  his  senior ;  it  was  a  char- 
acteristic obedience  and  deference  that  restrained  him.  "  If 
Dad  wanted  to  tell  me,  he'd  tell  me,"  the  young  fellow 
reasoned.  He  knew  Eugene  Rudd  only  as  a  name;  he  had 
always  known  that  one  member  of  the  older  Rudd  generation 
was  a  step-brother,  many  years  younger  than  the  others,  of 
whom  they  scarcely  ever  spoke,  though  when  they  did  they 

23 


24  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

never  said  anything  derogatory  —  before  their  children,  at 
any  rate.  Steven  recalled  a  saying  of  some  old-country 
nurse  he  had  once  had  about  its  being  an  evil  bird  that  fouls 
its  own  nest;  he  thought  he  understood  the  family  reticence, 
now.  He  was  nearing  twenty-four,  had  gone  through  col- 
lege, and  spent  a  year  travelling  in  Europe  by  himself,  com- 
ing off  from  these  experiences  with  a  clean  slate;  and  he 
had  now  been  in  business  six  months.  In  fine,  like  many 
another  gentleman  of  his  years,  young  Mr.  Rudd  was  of  the 
opinion  that  he  had  seen  the  world,  and  knew  a  thing  or  two ; 
nobody  needed  to  tell  him  what  sort  of  a  chap  this  Eugene 
was,  Steven  said  to  himself  shrewdly. 

In  spite  of  the  event  imminent,  everything  was  quiet  as 
they  drove  up;  the  caterers,  expressmen,  and  all  the  rest 
would  be  coming  and  going  by  the  service  entrance  around 
the  corner  of  the  north  wing;  busy  enough  there,  probably. 
And  probably  it  was  there  also  that  Edith  was  to  be  found. 
Even  supposing  the  Elihu  Rudds  and  Aunt  Susie  with  the 
Denver  relatives,  and  all  the  Chillicothe  and  Chicago  and 
Washington,  D.  C,  cousins,  and  Julia  Thatcher  and  the  other 
bridesmaids  —  even  supposing  that  they  had  all  arrived  and 
the  house  was  simmering  with  them,  Edith  would  not  be 
bothering  her  head  about  their  entertainment.  She  would 
capably  tell  off  her  mother  and  Hester  for  that  duty;  and 
like  as  not,  she  herself  would  be  perched  on  a  stepladder 
with  her  head  done  up  in  a  towel,  bossing  the  decorators,  and 
occasionally  taking  a  hand  with  the  hammer  and  nails  when 
they  failed  to  get  her  idea.  Mr.  Rudd  sketched  this  expo- 
sition humorously,  and  Steven  agreed  to  all  the  items  except 
the  last. 

"  No,  Edith  doesn't  ever  do  anything  herself,"  he  said 
sagely ;  "  she's  great  at  getting  work  out  of  other  people  — 
and  she  doesn't  make  them  mad  either.  I  don't  mind  doing 
what  Edith  wants;  she's  generally  right  somehow.  But 
then  Edith  and  I  have  always  been  pretty  good  pals,"  he 
added,  with  a  certain  regret. 

"  Well,  we've  got  Hester  still,  anyhow,"  said  the  father, 
valiantly  cheerful. 

Everybody  had  arrived,  and  the  house  was  simmering  with 
them  sure  enough.     Looking  down  the  long  centre-hall  to 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  25 

where  a  suave  archway  framed  the  distant  view  of  the  ocean, 
they  saw  the  terrace  busy  with  moving  figures,  bright-col- 
ored amongst  the  pretty  painted  iron  tables,  against  the 
background  of  striped  awnings,  cushions,  rugs,  tiled  floor, 
tall  jars,  potted  plants,  white  balustrades  silhouetted  on  the 
sky.  Tea  was  being  served;  two  children  and  a  fox-terrier 
romped  across  the  scene;  a  nursemaid  with  an  armful  of 
embroidered  lawn  which  was  evidently  somebody's  baby 
recently  on  parade,  came  through  the  screen-doors.  "  Mollie 
Shaw's,"  said  Lawson,  recognizing  this  apparition.  ''  She 
got  here  just  the  day  I  left.  I'd  forgotten  all  about  her  hav- 
ing a  baby  already  —  only  a  year,  you  know.  They've 
named  it  Rudd  —  Rudd  Pennyfeather  Shaw!  " 

''  Wow! ''  said  Steven  appreciatively. 

Mrs.  Rudd  advanced  to  them  through  the  screen-doors  in 
her  turn,  and  both  saluted  her  dutifully.  ''Well,  Lawson! 
Stevie!  Why,  you  both  look  quite  clean!  "  she  said  in 
accents  of  fatigued  surprise.  "  Wasn't  it  terribly  hot  inland? 
It  was  eighty-five  here  yesterday.  I  thought  about  3^ou  on 
the  train.  That  awful  five  or  six  hours  between  Cincinnati 
and  Cleveland!  Will  you  come  out  now  and  see  all  of  them, 
or  go  and  change  first?  " 

Lawson  elected  to  go  out  and  see  all  of  them,  Steven  to 
change  first.    "  Where's  Edith?  "  asked  the  former. 

"  Why,  she's  superintending  —  "  Mrs.  Rudd  began,  and 
stopped  mystified  as  her  husband  and  son  exchanged  glances 
and  burst  out  laughing. 

Family-parties  are  not  likely  to  be  a  dish  to  everyone's 
taste,  unless  flavored,  to  keep  up  the  metaphor,  by  some 
alien  ingredients;  and  this  one  followed  the  rule.  So  Mrs. 
Rudd  disjointedly  confided  to  the  head  of  the  house  as  they 
moved  towards  their  guests  that  although  she  was  nearly 
worn  to  shreds,  with  so  many  people  and  so  much  running 
around  —  really  the  breakfast -trays,  merely  to  mention  one 
thing,  it  looked  like  a  hotel  in  the  mornings,  every  servant 
in  the  place  galloping  up-  and  down-stairs  with  a  breakfast- 
tray !  —  but  what  she  was  going  to  say  was  that  in  spite  of 
the  crowding  and  confusion  and  waiting  on,  she  was  glad 
all  these  young  people,  outsiders,  you  know,  were  there. 
The  girls  and  men  kept  one  another  busy,  so  you  didn't  have 


26  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

to  worry  —  the  darlingest,  sweetest  girls,  every  one  of  them! 
But  with  so  many  strangers  always  within  hearing,  it  kept 
the  family  from  —  well  —  making  remarks  —  criticizing  — 
you  know?  Really  those  two  little  Potter  children  —  those 
two  little  grandchildren  of  Susie's  —  were  awful.  Perfect 
little  hoodlums;  nobody  had  the  slightest  control  over  them; 
they  must  have  been  allowed  to  run  perfectly  wild.  Of 
course  one  couldn't  say  anything ;  Susie  was  simply  wrapped 
up  in  them  —  much  more  so  than  she  had  ever  been  in  her 
own  children!  The  little  girl  was  rather  pretty;  Susie  had 
suggested  her  being  flower-girl,  but  Edith  —  well,  you  know 
how  Edith  is.  She  always  knows  what  she  wants,  and  at  her 
own  wedding  she  certainly  ought  to  have  everything  her  own 
way,  so  Susie  couldn't  say  anything,  though  anybody  could 
see  she  didn't  like  it.  And  oh,  Lawson  hadn't  heard  the 
latest,  it  happened  while  he  w^as  away.  Captain  Delaney, 
he  remembered  that  nice  Englishman  at  the  Legation  last 
winter,  Captain  Delaney?  —  Well,  it  seemed  he  couldn't 
get  leave,  or  something,  so  he  couldn't  come,  and  George 
Stillman  was  going  to  take  his  place  —  very  nice  of  George 
at  the  last  minute  that  way,  but  then  he  always  had  been 
the  kind  of  person  you  could  ask  to  fill  in.  Clara  might  not  be 
best  pleased,  particularly  as  she  hadn't  been  invited  to  take 
part  in  any  way,  but  of  course  she  couldn't  say  anything. 

"  Clara  Stillman  is  too  old  for  Edith's  set  —  or  Hester's 
either,  for  that  matter.  Of  course  that's  the  reason  she's  so 
anxious  to  go  with  them  all  the  time;  but  she's  been  out  at 
least  ten  years.  And  Gertie  Bryce  is  another,  only  she's 
beginning  to  look  her  age.  If  she  just  wouldn't  wear  those 
girlish  clothes!  One  can't  say  anything,  or  I  should  tell 
her  they  make  her  look  older  instead  of  younger.  That's 
she  over  by  the  steps  in  the  bright  egg-yellow.  No,  not  that 
one,  that's  Hester.  Mercy,  Lawson,  don't  you  know  your 
own  daughter —  ?  " 

"  There's  Elihu,"  said  Lawson,  pushing  open  the  door. 
"  I'll  bet  he  doesn't  want  any  breakfast-tray  sent  up  for 
him.    Hello,  El!  "he  shouted. 

Elihu  Rudd  got  up  a  little  heavily  and  shook  his  brother's 
hand.  Hester,  very  charming  with  her  black  eyes  and  hair 
and  brilliant  color  in  a  pale  yellow  frock  and  a  wide  droop- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  27 

ing  hat  wreathed  with  wheat  and  forget-me-nots,  came 
running  up  and  threw  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck 
and  embraced  him  with  an  abandon  which  sundry  young 
men  and  women  witnessed  admiringly  or  appraisingly 
according  to  the  sex.  Susie  captured  the  unspeakable  grand- 
children, one  in  cither  hand,  and  presented  them  wriggling 
and  hanging  back,  to  their  Uncle  Lawson.  Susie  was  now 
the  widowed  Mrs.  Alonzo  Lambert,  gray-haired  and  of 
somewhat  dumpy,  unstylish,  grandmaternal  figure;  and  Mrs. 
Elihu  Rudd  had  likewise  acquired  girth  and  crows'-feet;  so 
that  her  appearance  offered  some  difficulties  even  to  the  high- 
priced  milliners  and  mantuamakers  whom  she  patronized. 
They  were  both  older  than,  and  in  strong  contrast  to,  the 
resolutely  slender  and  youthful  Mrs.  Lawson,  who  had  been 
considered  a  beauty  in  her  day,  and  by  a  caressing  lamp- 
light, with  what  her  younger  daughter  Edith  ruthlessly  de- 
scribed as  her  "  face  fixed,"  and  a  becoming  toilette,  might 
pass  for  under  forty  still.  One  may  be  sure  that  the  lamp- 
light, the  toilette  and  the  face-fixing  were  never  neglected; 
the  proceedings  connected  with  rejuvenation  and  reconstruc- 
tion occupied  arduous  hours  —  so  many  of  them  that  Mrs. 
Rudd,  to  tell  the  truth,  had  not  much  time  left  for  anything 
else.    II  faut  soufjrir  pour  etre  belle! 

The  wedding-party  sat  down  to  dinner  that  night  some 
twenty-five  strong,  at  what  the  lady  of  the  house  pro- 
claimed to  be  the  unearthly  hour  of  six  o'clock  — ''  Edith's 
arrangement,  you  know,  to  give  plenty  of  time  for  the  re- 
hearsal afterwards,"  And  punctually  to  the  minute  the 
bride-elect  herself,  who  had  scarcely  been  seen  all  day, 
owing  to  her  manifold  activities,  descended  to  the  drawing- 
room,  perfectly  costumed,  without  a  trace  of  fatigue  about 
her,  taller,  cooler,  and  more  composed  than  any  other  person 
present.  To  some  of  the  older  people,  there  was  a  kind  of 
effrontery  about  this  composure  of  Edith's.  "  Nobody  would 
ever  guess  that  she  was  the  bride,"  one  matron  whispered  to 
another;  "the  most  matter-of-course — ■!  But  then  girls 
know  all  about  everything  nowadays  —  simply  everything! 
They  don't  think  any  more  of  getting  married  than  of  hav- 
ing a  shampoo  and  manicure,  actually!  " 

There  was,  however,  one  moment  when  even  Edith  be- 


28  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

trayed  some  disturbance;  it  was  when  the  butler,  after  re- 
ceiving some  communication  from  a  subordinate,  and  after 
hesitating  perceptibly  between  the  master  of  the  house, 
Mrs.  Rudd  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  and  the  young  lady 
seated  midway,  finally  approached  the  last  named,  defer- 
entially imparted  a  piece  of  information,  and  stood  back 
awaiting  orders. 

"  Oh  —  tst!  "  said  Edith,  with  annoyance.  She  shrugged, 
grimaced,  made  a  movement  to  rise,  and  changed  her  mind 
in  the  act,  sitting  down  again  resolutely.  ''  It's  a  reporter.  If 
there  has  been  one  of  them  here,  there've  been  five  hundred ! 
I've  told  them  over  and  over  I  won't  have  any  stuff  in  the 
papers.    Yoii'd  think  they'd  all  know  by  this  time  —  " 

''  Why  do  you  mind?  "  ''  You  might  as  well."  ''  They'll 
have  something  in  anyhow,  and  it  would  be  better  to  have  it 
correct."  "  Everybody  does."  Suggestions  were  offered 
from  various  quarters,  which  Edith  apparently  did  not 
think  it  worth  while  to  notice.  She  raised  one  shapely 
shoulder  again,  and  looked  towards  her  brother.  "  Steve, 
will  you  go  and  —  ?  " 

''  You  bet!  "  said  Steven,  with  humorous  alacrity;  he  had 
thrown  down  his  napkin  and  was  pushing  his  chair  back, 
when  Mr.  Rudd  unexpectedly  intervened. 

"  Never  mind,  Steven.  I'll  see  him,"  said  he  authorita- 
tively, rising;  and  on  the  w^ord,  departed.  The  young  man 
resumed  his  seat  obediently,  though  a  little  red  in  the  face, 
with  a  look  of  discomfiture  which  perhaps  no  one  noticed  — 
but  family  parties  are  notoriously  argus-eyed. 

The  groom  arrived  somewhat  late,  by  motor  from  Clear 
Harbor  in  company  with  his  best  man.  Lieutenant  Ernst 
von  Sternberg,  who  with  divers  brothers-in-arms  had  been 
helping  him  celebrate  his  approaching  entrance  into  the  holy 
state  of  matrimony  on  board  His  Imperial  Majesty's  cruiser, 
the  Eisenfeldt,  just  now  at  anchor  in  our  waters.  George 
Stillman  came  over,  giving  a  lift  to  the  minister  on  the  way; 
George  was  an  obliging,  thoughtful  fellow.  There  was 
plenty  of  champagne,  and  the  night  was  hot  and  stuffy,  pre- 
saging a  storm,  but  the  rehearsal  under  Edith's  competent 
direction,  went  off  very  smoothly  —  one  might  have  said 
the  rehearsals,  for  she  put  them  through  it  several  times, 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  '  29 

until  everybody  was  letter-perfect.  The  wedding  was  to 
take  place  the  following  morning  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
little  parish  church  of  St.  James,  which  had  been  founded 
and  was  largely  sustained  by  the  munificence  of  her  father 
and  other  wealthy  summer  residents.  Of  a  romantic,  Nor- 
man style  in  architecture,  rough  gray  stone  overgrown  with 
creepers,  it  stood  at  no  great  distance  from  the  Rudd  gates, 
adding  considerably  to  the  charm  of  the  Rudd  landscape. 

''  The  machines  are  to  drive  up  to  the  east  door,  and  go 
around  in  order  and  come  up  again.  There  will  be  men 
stationed  to  direct  everybody,"  Edith  announced  in  her 
clear,  pleasantly  firm  voice.  ^'  Dr.  Stanley,  you  will  already 
be  here,  of  course,  and  Mr.  Gherardi  will  be  in  the  vestry. 
Mr.  Prather,  the  organ  a  little  slower,  please.  Everyone's 
so  used  to  Lohengrin,  some  of  them  can't  get  in  step  to  this 
—  it's  a  little  hard.  I  think  we  ought  to  try  walking  in 
again  —  if  none  of  you  mind?    Dad  —  ?  " 

Lawson  gave  her  his  arm  once  more,  and  for  his  part 
walked  up  the  aisle  in  exact  time  —  to  the  Allegro  from  the 
Seventh  Symphony,  of  all  tunes  in  the  world!  He  had  an 
ear  for  music  and  a  nice  sense  of  rhythm.  "  Sounds  to  me 
like  a  funeral  march,  but  if  Edith  wants  it  —  !  "  he  thought 
resignedly.  He  was  perhaps  beginning  to  be  a  little  tired, 
what  with  the  railroad  journey,  the  heat  and  chatter,  the 
smell  of  the  flowers  which  were  already  in  place ;  and  found 
himself  wishing  irritably  that  Steven  could  take  his  place, 
that  it  was  all  over,  or  rather  that  it  did  not  have  to  be  at  all. 
Carefully  weighted-down  uneasiness  suddenly  rose  to  the 
surface  of  his  mind;  all  at  once  he  bitterly  did  not  want  to 
hand  over  his  girl  to  this  blond,  good-looking,  spick-and- 
span  young  German  officer  with  his  close-clipped  head,  his 
impervious  blue  eyes,  his  chain-mail  of  manners.  Natural, 
racial  distrusts  and  prejudices  whispered  in  his  ear.  Why 
couldn't  Edith  have  pitched  upon  one  of  our  own  men,  if  she 
must  marry?  But  that  was  the  rub,  after  all;  why  should 
she  marry?  Why  should  a  man's  daughter  leave  him  just 
when  she  had  reached  an  age  to  be  a  companion  to  him? 
And  Edith  was  a  first-rate  companion;  she  was  bright;  she 
had  her  own  bank-book  and  kept  her  balance  to  the  last 
cent  when  she  was  only  ten  years  old ;  she  — 


30  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  When  I  come  to  the  words :  '  Who  gives  this  woman  to 
be  married  to  this  man?  '  you  step  back,  allowing  the  groom 
to  advance,  as  you  say:  '  I  do,'  Mr.  Rudd,"  the  clergyman 
admonished  him.  Lawson  relinquished  the  girl,  withdraw- 
ing as  directed. 

He  went  back  to  the  house,  sitting  in  the  front  seat  along- 
side his  chauffeur,  so  as  the  more  easily  to  evade  conversa- 
tion with  the  ladies  in  the  car ;  and  said  good-night  to  them 
rather  curtly  in  the  hall  and  escaped  to  the  terrace  with  a 
cigar.  There  was  Elihu  with  another  cigar,  recumbent  in 
one  of  the  long  chairs,  with,  shocking  to  relate,  a  pair  of 
loose,  downtrodden,  old  slippers  on  his  tolerably  massive  feet, 
his  dress-pumps  having  begun  to  "  draw/'  as  he  explained 
unabashed.  Elihu  had  declined  the  rehearsal  on  the  incon- 
trovertible argument  that  he  did  not  need  to  rehearse  any- 
thing, and  preferred  to  see  it  all  as  a  novelty  the  next  day. 
He  gave  a  companionable  grunt  at  sight  of  his  brother. 

''All  through?" 

"Yes." 

Lawson  sat  down.  The  scraping  of  his  chair  was  the  only 
sound  between  them  for  a  long  while.  Remotely,  from  the 
region  of  the  dining-room  they  could  hear  laughter,  bursts 
of  mock  applause,  jingling  of  ice  and  silverware.  Down  in 
front,  across  stone  retaining-walls,  parterres  and  reaches  of 
lawn,  the  tide  rustled  ceaselessly  in  the  tiny  harbor.  There 
was  no  fog,  but  the  clouds  hung  low. 

"  Overcast,"  said  Elihu  at  length.  "  Looks  like  rain.  I 
expect  that's  what  makes  my  feet  hurt." 

"  I  hope  it  will  hold  off  till  after  to-morrow,  at  any  rate," 
Lawson  said. 

"  Yes.  It  would  be  a  pity  if  it  rained,  after  Edith's  taken 
so  much  trouble  to  have  everything  go  all  right,"  said  Elihu. 
After  another  pause,  he  cleared  his  throat,  and  made  the 
same  remark,  prompted  by  the  same  good  intention,  in  the 
same  non-committal  style  as  all  of  Lawson's  business 
friends.  The  latter  recognized  it  with  a  kind  of  resentment, 
a  kind  of  grateful  understanding.  "  Nice  fellow,  this  young 
Gherardi  that  Edith's  marrying,  Lawson.  Seems  to  be  all 
right." 

"  I'd  like  it  better  if  he  was  an  American,"  said  Edith's 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  31 

father,  frowning  in  the  darkness,  though  his  manner  was 
carefully  off-handed,  as  expressing  a  sentiment  wholly  nat- 
ural and  comprehensible. 

"  Why  yes,  of  course.  But  some  of  these  foreign  matches 
turn  out  successfully  —  I  mean  most  of  them,  most  of 
them!"  said  the  elder  brother  correcting  himself  hastily, 
and  not  skilfully,  as  he  was  conscious.  He  searched  his 
memory  in  something  of  a  panic,  and  finally  produced: 
"  There's  Hank  Meigs's  daughter,  for  instance,  that  married 
this  young  Englishman  —  I  met  him  but  I  can't  recall  his 
name  just  now.  That  must  be  ten  years  ago  or  more,  and 
they  seem  to  be  happy  together." 

''  It's  a  lottery  anyhow,"  said  Lawson. 

They  were  silent  again;  then  the  younger  brother  said 
abruptly:  "  I  don't  believe  you  know  it,  El.    Eugene's  here." 

Elihu's  chair  emitted  a  creak  under  his  sharp  movement. 
''Eugene?"  he  ejaculated.  But  for  the  lack  of  light,  his 
large  countenance  might  have  been  observed  to  change  ex- 
pression with  a  vivacity  almost  ludicrous,  considering  that 
ordinarily  it  was  anything  but  mobile  or  responsive.  After 
a  second  or  two,  he  inquired  cautiously:  "You  mean  he's 
coming  to  the  wedding,  Lawson?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  other  with  impatient  emphasis.  "  No.  He 
isn't  asked.  Why,  my  children  don't  know  him;  they've 
never  even  seen  him  —  " 

"  Well,  I  thought  it  would  be  queer,"  said  Elihu,  rubbmg 

his  ear. 

Lawson  went  on  talking:  "  I  had  to  tell  Steven  who  he 
was  to-day  —  had  to  introduce  them  —  "  He  gave  the  older 
Rudd  some  account  of  the  late  meeting  on  the  Clear  Harbor 
platform.  "  Annoying,  the  whole  business.  Perfectly  unm- 
tentional,  on  his  side,  of  course.  Eugene  doesn't  want  to  see 
me  any  more  than  I  want  to  see  him.  It  appears  he's  stop- 
ping at  this  little  resort.  Clam  Beach,  down  the  harbor." 
He  paused.  "  Well  —  "  And  here  Lawson  paused  agam. 
"  Of  course  Eugene  has  a  right  to  go  anywhere  he  wants  to, 
even  if  it's  occasionally  where  the  rest  of  us  happen  to  be. 
We  don't  own  the  earth.    Still  —  " 

"  Uh-huh,"  said  Elihu,  assentingly.  There  was  a  medi- 
tative silence.    "  Was  he  sober?  " 


32  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  More  or  less,"  said  Lawson.  Then  he  amended  the 
statement  with  a  sort  of  grudging  justice.  "  Oh  yes,  he  was 
sober  enough.  I  don't  want  to  give  you  a  wrong  impression. 
You  can  see  he's  kept  it  up  —  drinking,  I  mean.  It  shows  on 
him.    But  he  hadn't  had  anything  this  afternoon." 

"  Uh-huh,"  said  Elihu  again.  His  questions  seemed  to  be 
animated  by  a  negligent  curiosity  rather  than  genuine  in- 
terest; one  might  guess  that  the  answer  was  a  matter  of 
indifference  to  him,  even  when  he  said:  ''What's  Eugene 
look  like  now,  Lawson?  I  haven't  seen  him  for  —  oh,  it's 
going  on  fifteen  years;  I  never  saw  him  but  once  after  the 
split-up.    What's  he  look  like?  " 

*'  Why,  his  hair's  gray  —  " 

The  older  brother  exclaimed,  startled:  ''  Gray?  Why 
Eugene's  too  young  to  be  gray!  He's  —  wait  a  minute  — 
he's  not  over  thirty-five,"  said  Mr.  Rudd  who,  of  late,  had, 
insensibly  to  himself,  begun  to  look  upon  a  person  of  any  age 
short  of  forty  as  barely  emerged  from  the  kindergarten. 
''  He'd  just  come  of  age  when  we  had  that  time  in  the  office. 
He  can't  be  gray !  " 

"  Well,  he  is  all  the  same  —  gray  as  a  badger.  It's  his  life. 
I  told  you  it  showed  all  over  him.  He's  got  lines  in  his  face 
—  all  around  his  eyes,  thick.  A  man  can't  go  along  that  way 
fifteen  years  and  not  have  the  marks  on  him.  I  don't  know 
how  he  dissipates  outside  of  drinking,  and  I  don't  want  to 
know,"  said  Lawson  forcibly;  "  but  I  judge  Eugene's  a  regu- 
lar now.  He  probably  couldn't  break  himself  of  his  habits 
if  he  tried.  He  was  pretty  shabby  —  awful  old  hat.  What's 
the  reason  all  these  bums  have  that  kind  of  a  hat?  Haven't 
you  ever  noticed  it?  It's  like  the  diseases  plants  have,  that 
always  show  first  at  the  top  —  get  all  ratty,  you  know!  " 
Both  men  guffawed  with  sudden  amusement  at  the  idea. 

"  What's  he  doing  now  for  a  living?  "  Elihu  asked,  with  a 
return  of  his  first  indifference,  however. 

*'  I  don't  know.  The  last  I  heard  he  was  writing  for  some 
paper.  I  suppose  he  gets  one  job  after  another  and  gets  fired. 
He  looks  like  it.  We  didn't  have  any  time  to  talk  to-day, 
and  Eugene  wouldn't  have  told  me  anything  about  himself, 
anyhow.  That's  one  thing  about  Eugene,  Elihu!  He  might 
be  down  to  his  last  cent,  and  we'd  never  hear  anything  from 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  33 

him  about  it.  Lots  of  people  have  shady  relatives;  there's 
one  in  pretty  nearly  every  family,  I  believe.  Think  of  the 
men  you  know  that  have  to  be  putting  up  all  the  time  to 
keep  some  fellow  out  of  the  penitentiary,  or  to  look  out  for 
his  family,  or  just  simply  to  save  him  from  starving  to 
death.  I  tell  you  it  might  be  a  good  deal  worse.  Eugene's 
never  bothered  us  that  way,  at  least,  one  minute.  That's 
one  thing  about  Eugene !  " 

Elihu  agreed  that  that  was  one  thing  about  Eugene.  They 
smoked  for  a  while  silently,  no  doubt  revolving  old  memories 
about  which  they  were  in  complete  accord ;  the  brothers  were 
good  friends,  each  one  sharing  the  other's  opinions  and  prej- 
udices, or  able  to  see  his  point  of  view.  The  sympathy  be- 
tween them  could  not  have  been  better  exhibited  than  by 
their  next  action.  Elihu,  coming  from  the  past  to  the  present 
by  a  certain  sequence  of  mental  processes,  was  removing  his 
cigar  to  ask  a  question  —  with  active  interest  this  time  — 
just  as  Lawson,  similarly  impelled,  turned  towards  him, 
about  to  speak. 

"  How's  the  boy  doing  in  the  office,  Lawson?  Is  he  taking 
hold?  " 

''Why,  I  was  just  starting  to  speak  about  Steve!  "  said 
the  father.  "  Funny  thing  how  people  will  fall  into  the 
same  line  of  thought !  He's  getting  along  fairly  well.  He's 
pretty  young,  you  know;  but  I  think  he'll  learn." 

"  You  were  holding  up  your  end  all  right  when  you  were 
his  age,"  said  Elihu.  "  Didn't  need  to  ask  the  old  man  for 
orders  when  you  were  around." 

"  Yes,  but  men  got  started  earlier  in  those  days.  El.  Mar- 
ried younger,  and  took  up  their  responsibilities  sooner,  some- 
how.   You  did,  too.    Everybody  did." 

"  Everybody  that  amounted  to  anything,"  said  Elihu,  not 
without  a  touch  of  arrogance,  one  quality  of  his,  which,  by 
the  way,  did  not  enter  into  the  other  Rudd's  composition. 
Elihu's  own  sons  had  not  been  above  the  average;  they 
were  both  dead,  perhaps  fortunately  for  their  father's  pride. 
The  name  would  be  carried  on,  it  was  hoped,  in  that  branch 
of  the  familv,  by  several  sturdy  little  Rudd  grandsons,  of 
one  of  whoni,  little  Elihu,  Mr.  Rudd  was  particularly  fond. 

''  Well,  it's  different  now,"  Lawson  said,  with  a  small 


34  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

restless  movement,  indicative  of  some  restrained  dissatisfac- 
tion which  his  brother  may  or  may  not  have  noted.  "  The 
young  people  are  different;  they  seem  to  me  to  be  more  — 
more  immature.  One  mustn't  expect  too  much  of  them. 
When  Steven  began,  I  thought  to  myself:  '  Now  I  must  try 
to  look  on  the  boy  just  as  if  he  were  somebody  else's  boy, 
just  as  if  he  were  any  boy.  I  don't  want  to  favor  him,  or 
make  it  easy  for  him.  That  wouldn't  do  him  any  good.' 
Of  course  I  gave  him  some  advice ;  I  gave  him  a  serious  talk, 
the  same  as  I  did  when  he  was  starting  off  to  college  the 
first  time.  '  Steven,'  I  said,  *  there 're  a  great  many  things  in 
business  that  you'll  have  to  find  out  for  yourself.  I  can't 
help  you,  and  nobody  can  help  you.  Experience  will  do  it, 
and  nothing  but  experience.  But,'  I  added;  '  you're  here  in 
a  subordinate  position.  Now,  as  to  that,  I  can  tell  you 
something.  There  are  four  classes  of  people  that  take  orders. 
Class  Number  One  doesn't  listen.  Class  Number  Two 
doesn't  understand.  Number  Three  goes  off  and  forgets  it 
all  in  five  seconds.  And  Number  Four  thinks  he  knows  more 
about  it  than  the  one  that's  ordering  him.  Now  that's  all  the 
classes  there  are,  and  the  chances  are  that  you're  in  one  of 
'em;  or  you  may  be  in  all  of  them.  But  that's  all  the  classes 
of  people  that  take  orders;  the  minute  you  get  out  of 
those  classes,  you're  giving  orders,  you're  not  taking 
them.'  " 

Elihu  made  appreciative  sounds.  "  Did  he  get  you?  " 
"  He  got  some  of  it,  I  hope,"  said  the  father.  "  Of  course 
you  have  to  remember  that  he's  pretty  young,"  he  reiterated, 
defensively,  with  a  strange  and  pathetic  mingling  of  worry, 
defiance,  frank  relief  at  disburdening  himself  to  an  equal  — 
for  it  was  the  naive  belief,  once  in  a  while  naively  betrayed, 
of  both  Elihu  and  Lawson  that  they  two  were  the  only  equals 
in  the  family!  The  others,  wives,  children,  relatives  in  law 
near  or  distant,  they  cherished  or  liked  or  tolerated  in  vary- 
ing degrees ;  but  it  was  only  one  to  the  other  that  they  spoke 
on  even  terms. 

"  One  reason  I  got  away  earlier  than  usual  this  summer 
was  to  give  him  a  taste  of  what  it  would  be  like  with  no  Dad 
around,"  Lawson  went  on:  "  Of  course  Galway  was  there  — 
I  couldn't  risk  leaving  everything  to  Steven  all  at  once.    I'm 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  35 

trying  to  do  what  Fve  done  with  other  young  men  —  feel 
'em  out,  feel  'em  out  by  degrees,  you  know  how  that  is.  El. 
That's  always  been  my  way." 

"  Uh-huh,"  said  the  older  Rudd.  "  Well,  I  guess  he  did 
all  right,  didn't  he?  "  he  asserted  rather  than  asked,  with  a 
confidence  assumed  in  pure  good- will,  for  if  there  was  a 
thing  on  earth  of  which  Elihu  was  beginning  to  feel  morally 
sure,  it  was  that  his  young  nephew  had  not  "  done  all 
right";  something  had  happened  which  Lawson  had  not 
liked. 

"  Oh  yes,  he  didn't  have  much  chance.  That  is,  until  here 
the  other  day.  After  all,  it's  not  so  very  important;  no  use 
making  a  mountain  out  of  a  molehill.  I  don't  think  Steven 
will  make  the  same  kind  of  mistake  again,  anyway;  he's  had 
his  lesson,  and  perhaps  it's  just  as  well.  Galway  went  on 
his  vacation  the  first  of  the  month,  and  that  left  just  Jim 
Dickerson  in  the  office  with  Steve  —  "  Here  Lawson,  who 
had  been  fidgetting  about  in  his  reclining  chair,  rose  to  a 
sitting  posture,  wheeling  to  set  his  feet  on  the  ground  and 
bring  his  face  nearer  to  the  other  as  he  continued  the  tale. 
"  First  thing  you  know.  El,  I  had  a  wire  from  Steven,  and  a 
letter  from  Dickerson,  and  it  looked  to  me  that  there  had 
been  some  kind  of  a  ruction,  so  I  took  the  next  train  out  of 
here.     Do  you  know  what  w^as  up?  " 

He  halted,  though  obviously  not  expecting  a  reply,  but 
Elihu  signifying  by  a  rumble  from  somewhere  within  him 
that  he  had  no  idea  what  was  up,  and  was  waiting  to  hear, 
Lawson  pursued:  "We  have  a  correspondent  down  in 
Havana  —  man  named  Ginn  that  runs  some  kind  of  a 
notion-store,  I  imagine  —  it  has  one  of  those  high-flown 
Spanish  names.  Anyway  he  buys  a  bill  of  goods  of  us  once 
in  so  often,  not  very  much,  five  or  six  thousand  dollars  at 
intervals  of  a  year  or  so,  probably.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  him,  except  that  he's  always  paid  his  notes  promptly, 
and  we've  never  had  any  trouble  with  him.  W^ell,  it  seems 
he  was  up  touring  the  States  this  summer,  and  when  he  got 
around  to  our  neighborhood,  he  thought  he'd  drop  in  and 
make  our  acquaintance,  and  do  a  little  business  personally 
for  once.  Of  course  I  wasn't  there ;  but  Steven  and  he  made 
out  all  right,  and  everything  was  going  smoothly  until  they 


36  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

came  to  close  up  the  deal,  and  then  this  Ginn  drops  a  pretty 
broad  hint  that  it  wouldn't  be  any  harm  to  shade  the  invoice 
a  little  —  make  up  two  sets,  you  know,  on  account  of  cus- 
toms charges  being  exorbitant,  and  so  forth  and  so  on  —  " 

"  I  see,"  said  Elihu. 

"  Well,  El,  I've  known  men  to  do  that  before  —  " 

"  Uh-huh,"  said  Elihu. 

*'  The  trouble  was  it  was  Steven's  first  experience,  and 
what  does  he  do  but  get  furiously  insulted,  and  bawl  the 
fellow  out,  and  call  him  a  scoundrel  and  the  Lord  knows 
what  besides !  Dickerson  interfered  to  try  and  smooth  things 
over,  and  all  he  got  for  his  pains  was  that  Steven  lit  into 
him!  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  a  circus  they  had  in  the 
office,  but  it  must  have  been  beautiful!  "  ejaculated  Lawson 
ironically,  wagging  his  head.  "  Ginn  went  off  in  a  huff, 
naturally  —  " 

"  No  great  loss,"  said  Elihu,  judicially. 

"  No,  certainly  not,  but  that's  no  way  to  treat  that  kind, 
you  know,  Elihu.  That's  what  I  said  to  Steven.  '  Why, 
Steven,'  I  said,  '  when  a  man  comes  at  you  with  a  proposi- 
tion like  that,  there's  nothing  for  you  to  get  mad  about.  You 
don't  have  to  tell  him  what  you  think  of  him.  It's  no  affair 
of  yours  what  he  wants  you  to  do;  he  can't  make  you  do  it.' 
Well  then,  he  blazed  away,  and  said  it  was  abominable,  and 
he  wanted  Ginn  to  know  that  he  wouldn't  countenance  cheat- 
ing the  Government —  And  right  there  I  said  to  him:  '  Oh 
piffle !  As  if  your  countenancing  anything  was  so  important 
to  Ginn!'  Well,  then  he  quieted  down  a  little,  and  wanted  to 
know  in  a  very  tragic  way  what  I  would  have  had  him  do? 
It  wasn't  possible  that  I  would  have  wanted  him  to  accept 
such  a  suggestion?  I  spoke  to  him  pretty  sharply  then.  I 
said:  '  I'm  an  honest  man.  You  know  very  well  I  wouldn't 
alter  an  invoice.  Nobody  but  a  fool  would,  anyhow;  because 
they  always  get  caught  sooner  or  later.  But  all  you  need  to 
say  to  people  like  that  is  that  you'd  rather  not  do  business 
that  way,  that  you  never  have,  and  you  think  it's  best  to  be 
on  the  safe  side.    That's  every  word  you  need  to  say.' " 

"  Sure!  "  said  Elihu  in  full  approval.  "  After  that  if  he 
wants  to  take  his  account  somewhere  else,  why  let  him  take 
it,  and  to  hell  with  it!  " 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  37 

"  Yes,  but  I  could  see  that  Steven  thought  that  was  a  con- 
temptible, middle-of-the-road  policy,"  said  the  father  in  his 
worried  voice.  ''  He's  so  young!  And  then,  too,  his  idea  in 
the  abstract  was  all  right.  I  tried  to  make  him  understand 
that  I  wasn't  condemning  the  principle,  merely  this  perfectly 
futile  row  he'd  made.  He  stormed  around  about  it's  being 
liis  duty  to  make  his  position  clear  and  to  stand  up  for  mor- 
als, or  something.  I  said,  '  It's  all  right  taking  care  of  your 
own  morals,  Steven,  but  who  made  you  the  guardian  of  the 
other  fellow's?  '  He  hadn't  any  answer  for  that,  and  then  I 
went  on  and  told  him  I  was  distressed  to  find  out  how  he  had 
spoken  to  Dickerson.  I  said  to  him:  'Mr.  Dickerson  has 
been  with  us  twenty-six  years,  since  before  you  were  born. 
He  is  absolutely  upright  and  trustworthy,  and  has  always 
put  our  interests  before  everything  else.  He  knows  more 
about  the  business  in  a  minute  than  you  will  in  five  years. 
He  was  only  trying  to  tell  you  exactly  what  I've  been  telling 
you  about  how  to  treat  men  like  Ginn,  and  here  you  turn  to 
and  abuse  him  like  a  pickpocket!'  And  I  said:  'What's 
more,  Steven,  I  want  you  to  know  that  Mr.  Dickerson  has 
not  uttered  a  single  personal  complaint  to  me.  He  merely 
wrote  and  asked  me  to  come  out  and  adjust  certain  difficult 
matters  that  had  come  up  in  the  office,  which  he  felt  nobody 
was  competent  to  deal  with  but  myself.  He  never  even 
mentioned  your  name,  because  he  realized  that  you  were 
very  young,  and  he  was  too  generous  and  too  forbearing.  I've 
picked  up  the  facts  mainly  from  your  own  report.'  That 
made  an  impression  on  him,  I  was  glad  to  see.  He  felt  very 
badly  to  think  he'd  been  unjust  to  Dickerson." 

''  Did  you  make  him  apologize?  " 

"  Why,  no,  Elihu,  I  didn't  say  anything  to  him  about 
apologizing.  I  thought  I'd  leave  that  to  his  own  common- 
sense  and  right  feeling  —  if  he  had  any.  And  he  had!  "  said 
Steven's  father,  thankfully.  "  Dickerson  told  me  the  boy 
came  to  him,  and  told  him  he  was  sorry  in  a  very  straight- 
forward way,  and  they  shook  hands  and  agreed  never  to  say 
another  word  about  it.  I  told  him  that  Steven  did  it  on  his 
own  hook,  without  any  prompting  from  me.  I  was  glad  I 
could  say  that.    It  was  more  satisfactory  all  around." 

Elihu  made  no  comment;  perhaps  to  his  mind  there  was 


38  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

not  much  satisfaction  to  be  got  out  of  any  of  these  events, 
though  looked  at  in  the  most  favorable  light.  "  Reminds  me 
of  that  time  with  Eugene,"  he  reflected.  ^'  I  don't  wonder 
Lawson  feels  uneasy." 


CHAPTER  IV 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  bride's  repeatedly  stated 
objections,  and  even  certain  sharp  preventive  meas- 
ures she  had  taken,  the  emissaries  of  those  periodi- 
cals which  make  a  specialty  of  such  matters  turned  out  in 
considerable  force  in  the  neighborhood  of  St.  James  the  next 
morning.  They  could  always  take  snap-shots  of  the  crowd 
even  if  the  principals  w^ere  unapproachable,  and  possibly 
counted  on  the  fact  that  some  members  of  it  might  not  be 
averse  to  answering  a  question,  or  giving  some  harmless, 
petty  details  —  though,  of  course,  they  would  never  consent 
to  be  interviewed,  never !  Somehow  or  other  the  rumor  had 
gone  abroad  that  Miss  Stillman,  for  instance,  or  even  Miss 
Hester  Rudd  could  be  persuaded  into  these  confidences. 
And,  in  fact,  as  the  machines  drove  up  to  the  church  door, 
some  enterprising  journalists  got  speaking  likenesses  of  a 
number  of  elaborate  parasols,  half  a  dozen  chauffeurs,  sec- 
tions of  sundry  limousines,  the  base  of  the  monument  erected 
to  the  memory  of  the  Clear  Harbor  volunteers  who  fell  at 
Santiago,  and  Mr.  Elihu  Rudd's  top  hat.  No  one  could  pen- 
etrate within  the  church  itself  without  a  card,  however;  and 
upon  the  exit  of  the  bridal-party.  Miss  Rudd  —  we  beg  her 
pardon! — Mrs.  Rudolph  Gherardi,  was  powerfully  backed 
up  in  her  design  of  securing  privacy,  by  a  not  wholly  agree- 
able ally,  a  dashing  downpour  of  rain,  that  drove  all  the  out- 
siders to  cover,  and  kept  the  wedding-guests  roosting 
amongst  the  pews,  or  packed  into  the  aisles  and  porches  for 
fully  ten  minutes.  The  storm  had  been  threatening  all  morn- 
ing, and  burst  just  as  the  groom  handed  the  bride  into  their 
car;  he  had  to  plunge  in  unceremoniously  himself,  with  his 
gilt-braided  uniform,  and  his  sword  and  spurs  fairly  on  top 
of  her  veil  and  satin  train  which  were  stuffed  in  any  way  and 
every  way;  the  engine  stalled  with  much  futile  uproar  and 
presently  a  boom  of  back-fire  like  a  cannon;  the  other  cars 

39 


40  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

had  got  out  of  alignment  somehow ;  chauffeurs  were  running 
about  frantically  buttoning  up  the  storm-curtains ;  the  Rudd 
automobile  had  to  jockey  for  position,  and  by  the  time  it 
finally  rolled  off,  the  rain  had  so  increased  that  nobody  could 
follow.  All  the  rest  of  the  bridal  procession  were  temporarily 
marooned  along  with  the  guests,  and  naturally  broke  up  in 
disorder.  It  was  a  hurly-burly  of  gauze  hats,  shower  bou- 
quets, frock  coats,  excited  laughter,  squealing  exclamations 
and  dodging  of  the  drenching  gusts,  window  after  window 
swinging  and  slamming  as  several  youths  heroically  ruined 
their  brand-new  gloves  and  immaculate  cuffs  vainly  at- 
tempting to  close  them.  Cascades  of  water  gurgled  down 
the  steps,  the  gargoyles  spouted,  tall  wind-swept  wraiths  of 
rain  went  tottering  across  the  landscape;  but  there  was  very 
little  thunder  or  lightning,  fortunately  for  the  nervous.  Most 
people  voted  the  experience  rather  picturesque  and  amusing, 
for  all  it  spoiled  or  at  least  disarranged  the  preparations 
which  had  been  so  painstakingly  planned. 

"  I  wasn't  sure  at  first  whether  I  ought  to  converse  out 
loud  in  church,  but  everybody  seems  to  be,  so  I  suppose  it's 
not  sinful.  Now  my  trouble  is  that  I  don't  know  whether  to 
go  and  speak  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rudd,  or  not.  Ordinarily 
you  don't  offer  felicitations  and  compliments  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  until  you  get  to  the  house  and  everybody  is 
standing  in  line  to  receive  them.  It's  a  terrible  position; 
none  of  the  books  about  behavior  in  society  tell  you  what 
to  do  when  you're  all  mixed  up  with  a  wedding-party  in  a 
rain-storm.  Don't  you  think  that's  a  very  grave  oversight, 
Mr.  Cook?  "  one  guest  said. 

Mr.  Cook  agreed  with  her.  "  But  brides  are  always  sup- 
posed to  have  fine  weather.  The  writers  on  etiquette  prob- 
ably don't  like  to  assail  such  a  popular  pretense,"  he  sug- 
gested. "  For  that  matter,  I  myself  am  not  superstitious, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  this  rain  is  very  ill-timed.  Absit 
omen!  '* 

The  lady  eyed  him.  "  Do  you  know  Captain  Gherardi?  " 
she  inquired  irrelevantly;  and  then,  on  a  common  impulse, 
they  exchanged  warning  glances  behind  a  pair  of  shoulders 
in  an  impeccably  tailored  coat  which  just  at  that  moment 
had  been  wedged  or  shoved  into  their  neighborhood  —  the 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  41 

coat  and  shoulders  of  young  Mr.  Steven  Rudd,  who  here- 
upon turned  around,  smiling  and  apologizing  and  hoping  he 
had  not  amputated  a  foot  of  either  one  of  them. 

"  —  Or  done  anything  to  your  dress,  Miss  Grace?  I  came 
down  on  something  that  seemed  to  give  a  little.  No? 
That's  a  relief!  I  stepped  on  Mrs.  Thatcher's  a  minute  ago. 
I  heard  it  go  zip,  and  made  a  perfectly  lightning  get-away, 
and  I  don't  believe  she's  found  it  out  yet!  You  won't  tell, 
will  you?  " 

^'  Not  I !  I  have  some  dark  secrets  in  my  own  life,"  said 
Cook,  solemnly. 

He  was  a  short,  slight,  unnoticeable,  middle-aged  man, 
with  his  beard  trimmed  closely  to  a  point  and  eyeglasses  on 
a  black  ribbon;  nobody  could  have  looked  less  the 
adventurer  and  more  like  a  retail  dry-goods  clerk  —  in  the 
gent's  underwear  department,  for  example  —  and  Steven, 
surveying  him,  wondered  for  a  brief  moment  if  he  realized 
how  funny  his  words  were,  taken  with  his  appearance.  Of 
course  he  meant  to  be  funny,  but  still — I  Here  Steven  re- 
minded himself  that  Mr.  Cook  was  not  a  retail-clerk;  he  was 
a  novelist  and  playwright  of  some  reputation,  and  might 
be  presumed  to  know  quite  well  what  he  was  saying,  whether 
in  fun  or  earnest.  Steve  had  read  some  of  the  stories,  and, 
to  be  frank,  considered  them  pretty  slow^  stuff;  nevertheless, 
the  feat  of  writing  them  and  getting  them  into  print,  and 
making  a  living  thereby,  commanded  respect  —  even  a  little 
en\'y,  for  the  young  gentleman  remembered  certain  efforts 
of  his  own  in  that  direction  while  at  college  and  later  which 
had  not  met  with  conspicuous  success  among  the  editors. 

"  I  went  to  see  Days  Like  These  in  New  York  last  spring. 
It's  corking!  "  he  said  with  enthusiasm. 

'^  Thank  you  very  much.  It  ow^es  a  great  deal  to  the 
actors." 

''  Lorraine  Ha\\i^rey  was  fine  in  the  leading  part  —  the 
girl  that  runs  away,  you  know.  She  can  act  anything, 
though  —  er  —  that  is  —  "  Steven  floundered,  inwardly  call- 
ing down  anathemas  on  his  own  head;  what  did  that  last 
tactful  piece  of  criticism  sound  like  to  Mr.  Cook?  The 
author  had  not  moved  a  muscle,  but  little  Miss  Bessie  Grace 
w^as  trying  to  keep  from  smiling.     "  It  must  be  interesting 


42  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

to  write  plays,  and  —  and  get  them  presented,"  he  said 
desperately. 

"  It  is,  very.  In  a  number  of  ways,"  said  Mr.  Cook,  ad- 
justing his  eyeglasses  and  looking  at  the  young  man  thought- 
fully. 

Steven  began  to  wish  he  could  get  away  politely  —  evap- 
orate somehow  before  making  any  more  blunders;  but  there 
was  no  moving  in  any  direction  now.  The  bulky  figure  of 
Mr.  Stillman  was  under  way  down  the  aisle,  like  one  of  the 
new  Cunard  liners  leaving  port,  and  persons  on  either  side 
were  obliged  to  perform  the  action  known  to  childhood  as 
^'  scrooging  back  "  to  make  room. 

'^  I  daresay  you  meet  all  kinds  of  weird  characters  —  stage 
people,  musicians,  art-students,  all  that?  "  he  said  lamely. 

"  Mr.  Cook  knows  everybody,  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Miss 
Grace.    ''  All  sorts  and  conditions  of  men." 

"  It's  my  trade,  isn't  it?  "  said  the  novelist. 

Some  feeling  which  this  time  was  not  a  mere  desire  to 
make  talk  prompted  Steven  to  ask  him:  "  Did  you  ever  run 
across  a  man  named  Rudd  in  New  York?  " 

"  Rudd?  " 

"  Yes.  He's  a  —  a  kind  of  relative  of  ours.  He  writes  — 
or  at  least  he  used  to  write  —  for  the  papers,  I  believe," 
Steven  explained,  not  much  surprised  at  the  blankness  of 
Cook's  expression.  "  Oh,  I  don't  mean  he's  one  of  the  — 
the  big  ones,  the  big  WTiters.  It  wouldn't  be  strange  if  you'd 
never  heard  of  him.  New  York's  fairly  seething  with  news- 
paper-men, I  suppose.  I  hardly  know  him  myself  —  I've 
barely  met  him.    But  I  thought  you  might  possibly  — ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  used  to  know  a  Rudd  —  " 

"  There,  didn't  I  say  he  knew  everybody !  "  Miss  Grace 
threw  in  triumphantly. 

"  Only  I  haven't  seen  much  of  him  recently,  as  it  hap- 
pens," said  Cook.  "  He  was  on  the  Planet  some  years  ago 
at  the  time  that  I  was  writing  some  articles  for  them  —  " 

*'  The  Planet?  That's  Dana's  paper,"  said  Steven,  a  little 
vain  of  his  range  of  information.  "  One  of  the  fellows  in  my 
class  went  on  it.    It  gets  all  the  bright  men,  they  say." 

''  Mr.  Dana  was  a  little  too  soon  for  me,"  said  Cook,  smil- 
ing.   "  He  was  before  my  time.    Why,  I  don't  know  about  all 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  43 

the  bright  men;  maybe  there  are  a  few  left  for  the  other 
papers.  Your  —  er  —  your  cousin  did  very  good  work,  I 
remember.  We  met  occasionally.  I  don't  know  why  I 
never  connected  him  wdth  your  family,  in  spite  of  the  name 
being  rather  unusual;  perhaps  he  never  happened  to  talk 
about  his  people  in  my  hearing.  Did  he  come  from  Ohio? 
Almost  all  the  Western  and  Mid-W^estern  men  in  New  York 
know  or  know  of  one  another  —  " 

And  at  this  juncture  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Stillman  saved 
Steven  the  embarrassment  of  answering  or  of  not  answering. 
He  thought  the  other's  manner  had  been  a  trifle  guarded; 
nor  was  the  reason  far  to  seek.  Mr.  Cook  had  not  seen  much 
of  this  relative  recently,  eh?  No,  Mr.  Cook  was  not  the 
kind  of  person  ever  to  have  seen  much  of  that  derelict, 
Steven  guessed  knowingly,  unless  indeed  he  chanced  to  be 
studying  a  type  from  among  the  needy  and  dissolute  mem- 
bers of  his  profession.  Steve  himself  had  been  a  good  deal 
intrigued  by  the  unwelcome  and  more  or  less  mysterious 
Eugene  with  his  tell-tale  voice  and  complexion,  his  dis- 
armingly  agreeable  manners;  for  that  matter,  the  simple 
fact  of  his  being  so  far  the  only  disreputable  Rudd  to  appear 
above  the  family  horizon  was  enough  to  arouse  curiosity. 

He  lingered  for  the  sake  of  appearances  long  enough  to 
hear  Mr.  Stillman's,  "Ah,  Mr.  Cook!  Writing  anything 
now?  "  and  squeezed  out  at  the  other  end  of  the  pew  and 
in  and  out  through  several  more  pew^s,  to  speak  to  Miss  Bal- 
lard and  her  mother.  Momentarily  alone  in  the  places 
just  vacated  by  Mr.  and  Miss  Stillman,  they  had  an  odd  air 
of  standing  guard  over  the  latter's  resplendent  lace-and- 
chiffon  wrap  and  her  bejewelled  mesh-bag  thrown  down  to- 
gether in  a  priceless  heap,  delicately  glowing  against  the 
dark  wood  bench.  It  struck  Steven  that  the  Ballard  ladies 
were  frequently  to  be  seen  in  this  watchdog  pose.  They, 
for  their  part,  were  not  at  all  resplendent,  or  only  very  mildly 
so,  the  older,  in  gray,  the  younger  in  a  mauve  flowered 
organdie,  each  toilette  suggesting  to  alert  feminine  eyes  that 
it  might  be  a  year-before-last  or  even  a  five-years-before- 
last  inheritance  from  Clara.  Young  Mr.  Rudd,  however, 
possessed  no  such  gift  of  divination;  he  thought  they  looked 
very  nice,  just  like  everybody  else;  and  if  questioned,  while 


44  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

disclaiming  any  particular  interest  in  Mary  except  as  a  girl 
whom  he  had  known  all  his  life,  he  would  have  freely 
avowed  that  he  liked  her  awfully  well,  and  was  almost  as 
fond  of  her  mother,  and  that  there  was  nothing  on  earth 
he  would  not  do  for  either  one  of  them.  Mrs.  Ballard  turned 
a  face  of  fatigued  vivacity  upon  him,  as  he  edged  nearer. 

"  Well,  how  about  this  rain?  "  said  Steven  buoyantly. 
"  Won't  Edith  have  it  in  for  the  weather-man,  though?  " 

"  It  really  hasn't  spoiled  anything,"  Mrs.  Ballard  assured 
him  with  the  promptness  of  long  social  experience.  ''  No- 
body ever  minds  a  little  rain,  and  we  are  all  having  a  very 
good  time.  She  made  a  lovely  bride.  Generally  the  girls  are 
too  tired  out  to  look  their  best." 

"Oh,  Edith's  a  perfect  pine  knot.  She  never  gets  tired. 
I  thought  she  looked  corking,  too,  and  that's  rather  funny, 
because  she's  not  really  pretty.  She's  too  long  and  thin," 
said  the  brother  with  true  brotherly  candor.  He  checked 
Mary's  reproaches  with  a  laugh.  ''  Pshaw,  Edith  doesn't 
care;  she  doesn't  give  a  pin  whether  people  think  she's  pretty 
or  not.  Why  you  know  that!  Do  you  know  I  believe  that's 
the  reason  she  —  well,  gets  away  with  it  so  well  —  her  looks, 
1  mean,  you  know.    She  never  gives  it  a  thought!  " 

"  Oh  yes.  Anyone  can  see  that  she  is  absolutely  uncon- 
scious," said  Mrs.  Ballard,  accommodatingly.  In  her  pri- 
vate judgment,  if  ever  there  was  a  girl  who  knew  how  to 
make  the  most  of  herself,  it  was  Edith  Rudd.  She  actually 
capitalized  her  homeliness,  accenting  rather  than  trying  to 
conceal  her  lanky  height,  her  washboard  of  a  neck,  her  arms 
like  hinged  laths;  Edith  was  never  seen,  no,  not  even  to-day, 
with  a  single  dab  of  color  on  her  thin,  sharp-featured  face, 
with  the  high  cheekbones,  that  all  summer  was  always  a 
mask  of  tan  and  freckles;  her  small,  keen,  light-blue  eyes 
were  innocent  of  shading;  she  dressed  her  straight  hair  with 
a  defiance  of  style  that  achieved  stylishness.  Never  gave 
her  looks  a  thought,  indeed!  The  older  woman  could  have 
laughed  aloud.  It  was  true  that  Edith  never  wasted  time; 
she  knew  her  own  mind  too  well,  and  was  altogether  too 
efficient,  cool-headed,  thorough  and  calculating,  aware  to 
the  last  detail,  of  the  qualities  of  her  defects.  Mrs.  Ballard 
admired  her  for  it,  and,  as  has  been  seen,  loyally  supported 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  45 

the  popular  illusion  to  which  Steven  had  just  given  utter- 
ance. Edith  had  something  that  was  better  and  more 
durable  than  good  looks,  her  friend  thought.  Lo,  the  proof 
of  the  pudding  was  the  eating:  here  was  Edith,  easily  the 
greatest  favorite  in  her  set,  getting  married  at  twenty-two 
or  so,  while  Hester,  acknowledged  on  all  hands  a  stunning 
beauty,  was  still  hanging  on  the  Rudd  tree,  in  her  fifth  sea- 
son !  To  be  sure,  she  was  probably  holding  off  for  some  spec- 
tacularly rich  or  brilliant  match,  but  even  so  — 

Steven  was  speaking:  "  We  all  think  that  George  was  a 
pretty  good  scout  to  come  in  and  fill  up  this  way.  Nobody 
ever  really  wants  to  ush,  you  know;  they  just  feel  it's  com- 
plimentary to  be  asked  to,  and  they  can't  get  out  of  it, 
anyhow." 

"  Oh,  George  doesn't  mind  not  being  first  choice.     He's 
having  the  time  of  his  life,"  Mary  said.    They  looked  over 
to  where  George,  with  one  hand  against  the  stone  pillar 
behind   her,   was   bending   down   over  the   maid-of-honor, 
manifestly  having  the  time  of  his  life  to  such  an  extent  as 
to  render  him  completely  oblivious  of  everything  and  every- 
body else.     The  maid-of-honor  was  Miss  Hester  Rudd,  she 
of  the  black  eyes,  the  dazzlingly  white  teeth  —  you  could 
see  her  palate  every  time  she  laughed,  the  other  girls  said  — 
the  flower-like  textures,  the  fruit-like  contours.    Hester  was 
not  too  long  and  thin,  Hester,  whenever  and  however  you 
took  her,  was  a  satisfyingly  beautiful  sight,  as  even  her 
brother  Steven  would  admit;  and  George  Stillman  would 
undoubtedly  agree  wdth  him.    She  leaned  against  the  pillar 
under  the  young  man's  arm,  flashing  an  occasional  glance 
upward  at  him  from  beneath  the  bridesmaid's  hat,  pulling 
pink  petals  out  of  her  bouquet  and  nibbling  at  them  between 
pink    lips    tantalizingly.     Her    white    shoulders    and    slim 
white  ankles  glimmered  through  diaphanous  pink.    The  cos- 
tume and  attitude  and  occupation  were  a  deliberate  chal- 
lenge to  all  the  senses,  and  sufficiently  characteristic  of  this 
young  lady,  as  her  brother  realized  in  a  sudden  and  most 
uncalled-for  mortification.    "  Hester  overdoes  that  goo-goo- 
eyes  business,"  he  thought.    "  Now  she's  trying  to  make  a 
fool  of  poor  old  George;  she  tries  it  on  with  all  the  men. 
•  All  right  if  a  girl  wants  to,  of  course  —  only  she  overdoes 


46  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

it.    Everybody's  noticing.     It's  damn  bad  taste!"  thought 
Steve,  permitting  himself  an  expletive  in  his  annoyance. 

"  Doesn't  Hester  look  perfectly  lovely?  "  said  Mary. 

"  Yes.  She  has  all  the  looks  in  the  family.  My  mother 
says  that  Edith  and  I  are  '  all  Rudd,'  "  said  Steven.  "  I 
think  Edith's  more  attractive,  though,"  he  said  savagely. 
He  went  on  talking,  he  even  plunged  into  petty  gossip  to 
distract  Mary's  attention  from  the  lamentable  spectacle  of 
poor  old  George  being  made  a  fool  of  before  everybody! 
"  Between  you  and  me,  I'm  dead  certain  that's  the  real 
reason  Delaney  ducked  the  wedding.  Because  of  Edith, 
you  know.    He  was  tremendously  taken  with  Edith." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  he  —  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  he  didn't,  all  signs  fail!  She  never  said  a  word 
to  me  about  it.  Edith's  too  good  a  sport,  she'd  never  tell," 
the  brother  declared  with  pride.  "  Some  girls  do,  you  know. 
They  like  to  count  up  the  scalps." 

Mary  did  not  argue  the  point;  perhaps  it  was  too  well- 
established  in  their  circle  to  be  worth  an  argument.  "  Is  he 
nice?  " 

"  Oh,  top-hole!  Got  a  decoration,  D.S.O.,  or  somethmg  m 
the  South  African  war  — awfully  nice  fellow.  I  suppose 
she  liked  Gherardi  better.  Between  you  and  me,"  said 
Steven  again,  lowering  his  voice:  ''I  can't  see  why. 
Gherardi's  all  right,  of  course.  Well,  anyway,  it's  all  over 
now.  Only  I  wasn't  the  least  surprised  when  the  other  one 
flunked  this  business;  he  must  have  found  that  he  couldn't 
stand  seeing  another  man  get  her.  I  don't  think  he|s  such 
a  friend  of  Gherardi's  anyhow  —  just  knows  him  officially,  I 

daresay." 

''I  do  believe  the  rain  is  slackening  off  a  little!  Mrs. 
Ballard  said.  There  began  to  be  a  definite  movement 
towards  the  doors;  one  of  the  bridesmaids  stood  on  tiptoe 
and  beckoned  energetically  to  Steven;  George  Stillman,  with 
a  start,  "  came  to,"  as  sundry  observers  bitingly  remarked, 
and  offered  Miss  Rudd  his  arm  instead  of  putting  it  around 
her,  which,  they  opined,  was  what  he  would  have  infinitely 
preferred.  The  automobile  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lawson  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Elihu,  rolled  off;  Cook  got  ready  an  umbrella 
to  hold  over  Miss  Grace;  Miss  Stillman  — in  a  Paquin  cos- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  47 

tume,  a  hat  misted  with  floating  fronds  of  bird  o'  Paradise, 
and  her  wonderful  necklace  of  filigree  silver  and  paste 
jewels  that  had  once  formed  part  of  the  stage  parure  of 
Mademoiselle  Mars  —  came  back  to  get  her  wrap. 

''  Mother  and  I  are  going  over  to  Clam  Beach  Thursday," 
Mary  was  saying. 

Steven  halted,  turning  back.  ''Clam  Beach?  Why,  aren't 
the  Stillmans  staying  at  the  Harbor  for  a  while?  I 
thought  —  " 

''  Oh  yes!  "  Clara  told  him;  she  had  the  effect  of  not  see- 
ing the  other  two  ladies  at  all.  ''  We'll  be  at  the  Ocean 
House  just  as  usual.  They  save  that  suite  every  year  for 
us  at  this  time  —  so  nice !  George  ivas  going  to  his  beloved 
camp,  but  —  I  don't  know  —  "  she  smiled  archly  and  mean- 
ingly. "  Clear  Harbor  seems  all  at  once  to  have  developed 
powerful  attractions  —  perhaps  I  ought  to  say  'Journey's 
End'  —  " 

"  If  you  don't  get  started,  the  bride  and  groom  will  be  old 
married  people  before  we  tell  'em  howdy,"  Mr.  Stillman 
interrupted.     "  Are  you  ready,  Ellen?     Want  to  put  this 

on?  *" 

He  spoke  to  Mrs.  Ballard,  picking  up  her  shabby  silk  y 
cape  which  was  almost  as  much  of  an  antique  as  Made-  ' 
moiselle  Mars'  necklace,  with  an  attention  which  his  daugh- 
ter seldom  showed  her.  Indeed,  Miss  Clara  was  upon  many 
occasions,  as  upon  this  one,  airily  indifferent  to  what  became 
of  her  aunt  and  cousin.  "  Aunt  Ellen  and  Mary  are  always 
there,  you  know.  I  feel  I  can  call  on  them  whenever  I  need 
them.    They're  both  so  sweet!  "  she  would  say. 

By  the  time  the  main  body  of  the  guests  reached  the  house, 
Edith,  that  incomparable  genius  at  organization,  had  gen- 
eralled  the  members  of  the  wedding-party,  maids,  grooms- 
men, parents  and  all,  into  their  proper  places  and  a 
resumption  of  their  proper  functions;  and  thenceforward 
things  moved  without  a  hitch.  Considering  that  it  rained  at 
intervals  all  day,  so  that  the  lawn  and  terrace,  Mr.  Rudd's 
beautiful  gardens,  the  sea-wall  and  fountain  that  had  been 
photographed  so  often,  the  pine-grove,  the  bay-tree  walk, 
were  none  of  them  available  as  a  background,  or  a  means  of 
entertainment,  and  that  the  whole  point  and  purpose  of  the 


48  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

summer-home  wedding  were  therefore  lost,  it  was  a  remark- 
ably successful  occasion.  Indoors,  it  was  too  close  and 
stuffy  with  the  casements  shut,  too  damp  and  windy  with 
them  open;  but  the  champagne,  the  jellied  bouillon  were  iced 
to  perfection,  the  filet  de  piiitade  en  cloche  a  triumph ;  there 
was  an  apparently  bottomless  supply  of  cigars  and  high- 
ball materials,  both  of  prime  quality,  in  the  men's  dressing- 
room.  Mrs.  Rudd  in  lace  and  pearls  with  her  face  marvel- 
lously "  fixed,"  was  charming  in  the  role  of  hostess,  explain- 
ing from  time  to  time  that  they  had  been  determined  to  have 
everything  absolutely  simple  —  a  seashore  wedding,  you 
know,  and  so  small  and  quiet.  The  groom  made  a  good 
speech  in  his  pleasantly  foreign  accent,  the  military  men  and 
the  young  secretaries  of  legations  who  had  come  up  from 
Washington  and  Newport  imparted  a  flavor  of  distinction 
and  of  the  unusual;  and  Hester  Rudd  caught  the  bride's 
bouquet. 

Steven  was  so  busy  seeing  everybody  that  he  had  no  time 
really  to  see  anybody,  as  he  once  or  twice  noted,  during  some 
brief  respite  from  his  activities,  with  a  vaguely  satirical 
amusement.  About  half-past  four, 'as  he  was  running  up- 
stairs at  his  mother's  behest  to  rout  some  missing  male 
relatives  from  the  billiard-room  (or  the  other  remote  retreats 
whither  the  lady  of  the  house  divined  they  had  stolen  off  to 
smoke  and  discuss  the  stock-market)  and  warn  them  that 
the  new  couple  were  about  to  depart  —  as  Steven  ran  up  on 
this  errand,  one  of  the  servants  apologetically  intercepted 
him  on  a  landing:  if  he  pleased,  Miss  Edith,  —  that  is  — 
beg  pardon,  sir,  Mrs.  *  Gherardi,  would  like  to  see  him  a 
minute. 

''  Me?  Where  is  she?  Oh,  in  her  own  room?  All  right!  " 
He  turned  off  down  the  corridor.  The  door  stood  ajar  into 
the  familiar  room  which  was  oddly  still  though  people  were 
scurrying  past  every  moment,  and  there  were  loud  talk  and 
laughter  and  glimpses  of  confusion  through  the  other 
doors.  It  did  not  surprise  the  brother;  Edith's  room  was 
always  a  cool,  ordered  place;  nor  was  he  much  surprised, 
reaching  the  threshold,  to  see  her  alone.  She  was  standing 
before  the  long  mirror,  putting  some  finishing  touch  to  her 
hat  and  veil. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  49 

"  Hello,  Ede!    Here  I  am!    Where's  everybody?  " 

Edith  went  on  making  expert  motions  with  her  long,  firm, 
slender  hands;  she  revolved  slowly  before  the  glass  with 
her  head  over  one  shoulder  as  if  studying  the  hang  of  her 
skirts,  then  at  last  faced  him.  "  I  made  them  all  go  away. 
I  wanted  to  say  good-bye  by  ourselves.  Can't  do  it  down- 
stairs, with  everybody  around,  you  know,"  she  said  col- 
lectedlv.  But  some  unwonted  slurring  of  her  speech  which 
w\as  naturally  very  clear,  penetrating  and  musical,  one  of 
her  few  real  attractions,  filled  him  with  consternation.  The 
stark  Edith  who  never  was  known  to  get  into  a  temper,  or 
to  shed  a  tear,  it  couldn't  be  possible  that  she  — ? 

"Here,  don't!"  he  urged,  appalled. 

''  I'm  not  going  to!  "  said  Edith  with  a  sound  that  might 
pass  for  laughter.  In  fact,  her  features  were  steady  as  she 
went  up  to  him  and  put  both  arms  around  his  neck  and 
put  her  head  in  the  ultra-smart  travelling-hat,  against  his 
shoulder;  she  was  almost  as  tall  as  he.  Steve  hugged  her 
close.  Good  old  Ediel  Always  such  a  good  pal!  Like  one 
of  the  fellows !    Always  understanding  you  —  always  square 

—  always  keeping  her  word  —  never  giving  anything  away 

—  never  talking  —  it  startled  him  to  find  out  how  fond  he 
was  of  Edith,  how  much  he  was  going  to  miss  her —  ! 

''  Here,  don't  ijoii,  Stevie!  "  said  Edith,  with  another  un- 
natural laugh. 

"  I'm  not  going  to !  "  said  Steven,  trying  to  echo  it.  "  Any- 
way, we  don't  need  to  get  wrought  up,  and  pull  the  farewell- 
forever  stufT,"  he  said  with  resolute  lightness.  ''  Even  if  you 
and  Rudolph  have  to  go  and  live  over  there,  you'll  be  coming 
back  to  this  side  every  little  while." 

"  It  won't  be  the  same,"  said  Edith.  "  I  won't  be  the 
same,  somehow." 

''Well,  it  — it'll  be  all  right  — it's  going  to  be  all  right, 
said  Steve,  embarrassed,  conscious  of  a  certain  inadequacy 
in  this  effort  at  reassurance,  but  unable  to  think  of  anything 
better. 

"  Can't  be  helped,  anyhow,"  Edith  said.  She  moved  out  of 
his  arms,  and  stood  looking  at  him;  then  spoke  impulsively: 
"  Steve,  remember  that  ridiculous  way  you  alw\ays  wanted 
to  play  when  we  w^ere  little  —  fairy  tales  out  of  books,  and 

E 


50  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

nonsensical  things  like  that?  Remember  how  you  were 
always  wanting  me  to  be  a  poor  abused  Cinderella,  or  a 
princess  chained  up  in  a  castle,  so  that  you  could  come 
prancing  in  and  have  a  grand  fight  with  a  dragon  or  a 
sorcerer  or  something,  and  rescue  me?  And  I  never  liked  it. 
Don't  you  remember?  " 

Steve  nodded  and  began  to  chuckle,  glad  to  feel  the  tension 
relax.  "  Yes,  you  always  wanted  to  rescue  yourself,  and  do 
your  own  fighting,  I  remember.  We  generally  ended  by  join- 
ing forces  and  defending  Hester.  Hester  liked  to  be  the  op- 
pressed heroine;  she  used  to  tease  and  sulk  when  we  wouldn't 
have  her." 

''  Steve,  I  think  you're  always  going  to  be  like  that.  Get- 
ting up  and  defending  somebody,  or  protecting  somebody,  or 
something  —  like  those  everlasting  old  knights  in  armor,  in 
the  fairy-books,"  said  Edith,  not  too  lucidly  —  yet  some- 
how she  made  the  central  idea  clear.    "  And  Dad  is,  too  —  " 

Steven  broke  into  genuine  laughter  this  time.  "  Dad? 
Oh,  come  now,  Edie!  Think  of  Dad  in  a  sheet-iron  vest 
riding  around  knocking  people  on  the  head  when  they  didn't 
behave  right!  " 

"  He  would,  though!  And  you  would,  too,  if  you  ever  had 
to,"  the  girl  insisted.    *'  You  needn't  make  fun,  because  it's 

—  it's  fine.  I've  often  wished  I  was  a  man,  so  I  could,  too. 
Steve,  I  hope  you  won't  ever  give  it  up  —  I  hope  you  won't 
ever  stop  feeling  that  way.  I  —  I  —  "  All  this  she  had  been 
saying  with  a  good  deal  of  vehemence,  but  now  hesitated. 
"  It  isn't  mean  or  tittle-tattling  to  say  it,  because  I  daresay 
you  feel  it  yourself.    Dad's  got  an  idea  that  you're  —  well 

—  idealistic,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know  —  rather 
high-flown —  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Steven,  flushing. 

"  Well,  he  is,  too,  Steve!  Right  down  in  the  bottom  of  his 
heart  —  only  he  doesn't  know  it.  You  and  he  are  exactly 
alike.  You  don't  see  it  yourselves,  but  I  can  see  it  all  the 
time." 

"  Maybe  that's  the  reason  we  don't  invariably  agree. 
They  say  that  opposite  temperaments  get  along  together 
better,"  suggested  her  brother,  determinedly  flippant. 

She  shook  her  head  at  him,  drawing  her  straight  light  eye- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  51 

brows  together  with  a  look  of  wistfulness  and  perplexity, 
strange  on  Edith's  face.  "  You  needn't  make  fun,"  she  said 
again;  and  with  that  constraint  which  so  commended  her 
to  the  masculine  mind:  "  A  person  doesn't  want  to  talk  about 
—  about  this  sort  of  thing.  But  just  this  once  —  Steve," 
she  said  earnestly;  "  what  I'm  trying  to  say  is  that  Dad  has 
sort  of  —  of  —  high-up  things,  spiritual  things,  I  daresay  a 
clergyman  would  call  them,  that  he  has  to  live  up  to,  just 
like  you.  If  he  heard  me,  he'd  say  it  was  all  nonsense,  but 
he  —  he  has  his  ideals,  just  the  same,  and  I  don't  believe 
they're  so  very  different  from  yours.  I  wanted  to  tell  3^ou, 
because  I'm  afraid  you  and  he  will  get  to  misunderstanding 
each  other,  and  you'll  have  fusses,  and  —  " 

"  And  you  won't  be  here  to  manage  us,  and  set  us  right!  " 
said  Steven,  good-humoredly,  affectionately.  "  All  right, 
Edie!  I  get  you!  " 


CHAPTER  V 

CLAM  BEACH  differed  nowise  from  dozens  upon  dozens 
of  resorts  scattered  up  and  down  the  seaboard  of 
these  United  States,  where  congregate  considerable 
numbers  of  seekers  after  rest  or  pleasure  whose  purses  are 
not  quite  so  long  as  those  of  the  Rudds  and  Stillmans.  The 
little  harbor  would  have  been  commonplace  if  any  spot  on 
earth  where  salt  tides  run,  and  ships  and  dories  lie  at 
anchor,  and  tall  piers  strut  out  from  shore,  now  high  above 
the  water,  now  barely  showing  on  a  level  with  its  surface, 
could  be  commonplace.  There  was  a  single  street,  ankle- 
deep  in  sand,  with  meagre  little  shops  and  sailmakers'  lofts 
and  a  blacksmith  who  was  on  the  way  to  fortune  since  the 
rise  and  spread  of  the  automobile  habit;  and  there  were  two 
or  three  light  wooden  hotels,  erected  to  all  appearances  in 
the  expectation  of  being  blown  or  burned  down.  One  came 
here  and  there  to  reticent  New  England  cottages,  the  tiny 
gardens  about  their  door-steps  blooming  to  the  admiration 
and  despair  of  the  inland-dwelling  gardeners.  Farther  out, 
abandoned  farms  with  dilapidated,  silent  buildings  and 
lengths  of  stone  wall  beautiful  in  ruin,  provided  a  forlornly 
picturesque  approach.  Steven's  runabout  made  heavy 
weather  of  the  last  few  miles  what  with  the  sand  and  chuck- 
holes;  up  to  then  the  roads  had  been  good,  but  Wiscasset 
was  a  poor  county;  the  population  made  their  living  off  of 
the  summer  visitors  —  a  pathetically  lean  living  at  that. 

"  It's  a  shame!  "  said  Steve  aloud,  serpentining  around  the 
fiftieth  boulder  and  surging  into  a  low  thicket  of  blueberries 
on  the  other  side.  He  was  not  thinking  of  the  highway, 
however,  but  of  another  victim  of  Destiny's  neglect  or  hit- 
and-miss  attention,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  namely:  Miss  Mary 
Ballard.  They  had  been  children  together,  going  to  kinder- 
garten, going  to  Sunday-school,  going  to  parties,  picnics,  the 
circus;  Mary  and  Edith  were  just  of  an  age.    In  those  days, 

52 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  53 

either  there  had  not  been  so  great  a  disparity  in  worldly 
goods  between  the  Rudds  and  other  members  of  their  circle, 
or,  what  is  far  more  likely,  the  youngsters  had  not  noticed  it. 
Even  later,  at  fifteen  or  sixteen,  when  the  youthful  Rudds 
could  not  help  but  perceive  that  they  had  more  and  could  do 
r.^ore  than  almost  any  of  their  friends,  and  that  the  establish- 
ment was  conducted  upon  the  same  large  and  easy  scale  as 
those  of  people  whom  they  knew  to  be  constantly  referred  to 
in  the  newspapers  as  millionaires,  even  then  it  is  doubtful 
if  they  gave  the  matter  any  thought.  Steven,  like  any  nor- 
mal, healthy-minded  boy,  valued  his  companions  by  their 
deeds  and  qualities,  strictly  for  what  they  were,  not  for  what 
they  happened  to  have;  and,  when  all  is  said,  there  is  no 
judgment  more  sane,  more  just,  than  that  of  an  honest  boy; 
maturity  cannot  better  it.  As  much  can  scarcely  be  said  for 
the  girls;  but  in  this  instance,  Edith  shared  her  brother's 
views,  as  was  usual  with  the  two.  They  both  liked  Mary; 
she  could  dance,  she  could  ride,  she  could  swim,  she  could 
play  any  game,  she  was  always  ready  to  amuse  or  to  be 
amused,  she  had  no  mean  little  tricks,  she  knew  everybody, 
vvTnt  everywhere,  and  always  seemed  to  be  enjoying  herself. 
If  she  was  skimped  in  clothes  or  pocket-money,  if  unable  to 
pa}^  social  debts  in  kind,  if  continually  obliged  to  rely  on 
somebody's  motor-car,  somebody's  hospitality,  they  savv 
nothing  of  it.  Onh'  of  late,  last  month,  last  week,  had  the 
fact  gradually  obtruded  itself  on  Steven  that  the  Ballards 
must  be  very  poor,  that  they  were  clinging  desperately  to  the 
foothold  in  society  afforded  by  their  unquestioned  claim  to 
caste,  their  elevated  family  connections,  their  old  and  well- 
known  name. 

Mrs.  Ballard  was  Miss  Ellen  Van  Huysen  of  Albany, 
descended  from  the  patroon  Dietrich  Van  Huysen  who 
owned  half  the  land  upon  which  the  city  now  stands,  having 
bought  it  from  Chief  Skinned-Easy,  of  the  Takeawiskies  for 
a  bead  necklace  and  a  demijohn  of  Holland  Schnapps;  at 
least,  that  may  well  be  the  story,  for  is  not  the  same  told  of 
all  the  patroons,  yea,  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  the  William 
Penns,  the  whole  body  of  pioneers?  We  may  believe  the 
original  estate  had  sadly  fallen  off  by  the  time  it  passed  to 
patroon  Dietrich's  ultimate  heirs.     The  other  Van  Huysen 


64  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

girl,  Anita,  married  John  Stillman,  the  railroad  man;  she  did 
well  enough  for  herself,  at  any  rate.  Stillman  was,  in  a  man- 
ner of  speaking,  without  antecedents ;  but  one  can  get  along 
very  nicely  without  antecedents  on  seventy-five  thousand 
a  year.  Ellen's  husband,  the  late  Quintus  Curtius  Laniar 
Ballard,  was  one  of  the  South  Carolina  Ballards,  a  family 
whom  the  Civil  War  left  with  their  name  and  probably  not 
much  else. 

But  this  last  fact  hardly  accounted  for  the  present  low  ebb 
of  the  Ballard  fortunes.  At  one  time  Mr.  Ballard  must 
have  made  a  handsome  living  at  his  profession,  the  law.  He 
was  a  man  of  fine  presence,  with  a  strong  voice  and  a  com- 
mand of  rhetoric,  gifts  which  stood  him  in  good  stead  during 
the  political  campaigns  in  which  he  took  a  prominent  part 
beginning  as  far  back  as  Harrison's  first  candidacy.  And 
republics  are  not  consistently  ungrateful  for  he  became 
Judge  Ballard  and  served  six  years  on  the  bench.  What 
happened  after  that?  And  why  should  his  brother-in-law 
Stillman  say  with  a  sort  of  philosophical  contempt:  "  Poli- 
tics spoil  lots  of  men  "?  Q.  C.  L.  Ballard  had  been  dead 
some  time,  so  that  Steven  —  who,  for  that  matter,  had  sel- 
dom seen  him,  owing  to  his  frequent  absences  from  home  on 
stump-speaking  tours,  or  perhaps  other  errands  —  found 
difficulty  in  recalling  his  appearance.  The  house  where  they 
lived  when,  as  a  little  boy,  he  first  knew  them,  where  he  used 
to  go  to  play  with  Mary,  he  remembered  distinctly,  from  the 
attic  where  they  kept  their  toys  to  the  dining-room  in  the 
basement  with  the  row  of  beautiful  old  Bohemian-glass 
decanters  on  the  sideboard,  from  whence,  no  doubt,  ema- 
nated that  fragrance  of  brandy  that  always  hung  in  the  air. 
It  was  Number  Two,  St.  Clair  Avenue,  next  to  AH  Souls,  a 
dignified  and  comfortable  home  in  a  desirable,  if  not  the 
most  fashionable,  residence  district.  Then  all  at  once  they 
began  to  move ;  they  kept  moving,  hither  and  yon,  from  one 
house  to  another.  Then  they  ceased  to  live  in  houses, 
and  took  apartments  for  a  season  here,  a  season  there.  Mary 
was  sent  east  to  stay  with  some  Van  Huysen  or  Rutgers 
relative,  or  to  Richmond,  Charleston,  Washington  to  stay 
with  some  Ballard,  Poinsett  or  Dunwoodie  relative  while 
she  went  to  school.    When  Steve  wrote  to  her,  he  was  for- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  65 

ever  having  to  make  note  of  a  new  address.  She  got  through 
with  the  schools  at  about  the  time  her  father  died;  and 
since  then  she  and  Mrs.  BaUard  had  boarded  when  they 
were  not  visiting  indefinitely  those  same  Van  Huysens  and 
Dunwoodies,  or,  intermittently,  the  Stillmans. 

Steven  frowningly  speculated  on  the  whys  and  wherefores 
of  all  this,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  just  quoted.  It  was  a 
shame.  Mary  and  her  mother  had  no  home;  they  must  be 
more  or  less  dependent  on  those  other  members  of  the  fam- 
ily —  and  it  could  not  be  a  very  secure  or  agreeable  position 
to  depend  on  Miss  Clara  Stillman,  for  instance.  He  had 
heard  his  sister  Hester  and  indeed  more  than  one  of  the 
girls  —  never  Edith,  though !  Edith  would  not  gossip  —  in- 
terchanging slightly  acidulated  criticism  of  Clara  Stillman. 
Every  now  and  then  (they  said)  she  got  into  a  great  fuss 
about  having  a  chaperon  —  a  chaperon  at  her  age!  —  and 
sent  for  Mrs.  Ballard.  Then,  when  she  got  over  the  scare 
about  propriety,  or  tired  of  having  the  Ballards  around,  or 
was  afraid  she  would  have  to  pay  their  expenses  somewhere, 
why,  she  dumped  them  out  of  the  way  like  so  much  rubbish. 
Must  be  lots  of  fun  for  Mary  and  her  mother  I  But  it  was 
not  going  to  keep  on  much  longer,  they  would  opine  with 
shrewd  looks;  Mary  was  too  popular,  too  attractive.  Bye- 
bye,  dear  Auntie,  and  cousin  I  Here's  one  of  those  lovely 
gowns  Mama  bought  at  the  Chicago  World's  Fair;  you  can 
cut  it  over  so  that  it  will  fit  both  of  you.  Bye-bye !  Have  a 
good  time! 

Thus  had  Steven  heard  the  young  ladies  discourse;  only 
women  relish  such  bitter  trivialities,  the  young  fellow  would 
think.  Miss  Stillman  hitherto  had  seemed  to  him  amiable 
enough  —  but  there  was  certainly  something  cold  and  cava- 
lier in  the  way  she  shunted  the  Ballards  off  the  other  day. 
She  might  just  as  well  have  kept  them  with  her  at  Clear 
Harbor;  that  famous  suite  that  was  set  aside  for  her  from 
year  to  year  was  roomy  enough,  in  all  conscience.  Steve 
wondered  if  Mr.  Stillman,  if  George,  who  was  one  of  the 
kindest-hearted  chaps  alive,  realized  the  Ballards'  position. 
After  all,  maybe  the  two  ladies  themselves  preferred  Clam 
Beach,  though  that  resort  was  considered  by  Hester  and 
others  abysmally  "  mucker."    But  the  Burkes  liked  it;  there 


56  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

were  probably  plenty  of  nice  people  there;  Mary  and  her 
mother  might  feel  freer,  if  less  comfortable,  than  when  Miss 
Stillman  was  making  a  convenience  of  them;  and  anyhow, 
it  was  no  business  of  his. 

Something  occurred  at  the  moment  that  was  distinctly 
Steven's  business.  That  is,  as  he  bumped  slantwise  over  a 
granite  escarpment,  the  rear  right  tire  set  up  a  continuous 
minute  hissing  which  he  recognized  with  an  ejaculation. 
"Yah!  There  she  goes!"  said  Steven,  disgusted  but  re- 
signed. He  stopped  the  car  and  leaned  over,  attempting  to 
estimate  the  damage;  and  looked  up  and  down,  shaking  his 
head.  The  catastrophe  had  befallen  at  the  bottom  of  a  little 
dip,  the  road  scrambled  over  the  rocks  before  and  behind; 
afar  off  there  showed  a  V-shaped  patch  of  sea  between  the 
hills.  It  was  hot  in  this  hollow  and  incredibly  still;  not 
a  soul  within  hallooing  distance,  probably,  although  at  the 
top  of  the  stair-like  ascent  on  one  hand,  a  gable  and  tumble- 
down chimney  pushed  through  the  greenery.  Fifteen  min- 
utes of  uninterrupted  going  would  have  taken  him  into 
town;  but  "  she  "  would  be  in  ribbons  before  the  first  five. 
Steven,  however,  was  a  lad  of  stout  muscle,  and  handy 
enough  with  tools;  it  would  not  be  the  first  tire  he  had 
changed,  so  the  prospect  held  no  particular  terrors.  He  took 
off  his  gloves,  took  off  his  cap,  took  off  his  coat  and  slowly 
descended.  He  went  around  to  the  back  of  the  car,  whistling 
confidently  '^  Everybody  Works  but  Father  "  —  an  aria  new 
at  that  date  —  released  the  spare  tire,  and  began  to  explore 
the  tool-box.  The  whistle  died;  he  took  out  wrenches,  ham- 
mers, rolls  of  adhesive  tape,  extra  nuts  and  washers  without 
number  as  it  seemed  to  him;  he  prowled  in  the  corners;  he 
investigated  every  square  inch  of  the  machine  where  a  jack 
could  be  hidden,  all  to  no  avail.  Michael  must  have  taken 
it  to  use  on  one  of  the  other  cars,  and  forgotten  to  put  it 
back ;  it  was  bowling  along  thirty  miles  an  hour  in  the  oppo- 
site direction  towards  Clear  Harbor,  supposing  Mrs.  Rudd 
were  out  —  it  was  peaceably  bestowed  on  the  garage  shelf  — 
it  was  anywhere  you  choose  except  where  it  was  needed  by 
its  owner  upon  his  lawful  occasions!  Steven  desisted  from 
the  search,  and  stood  back,  debating  what  he  should  do 
next,  eyeing  the  inert  car.    He  noticed  that  it  was  canted 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  57 

up  on  the  ledge  so  as  to  bring  the  injured  wheel  almost  free; 
an  inch  more,  and  he  would  have  a  natural  jack.  Steven 
calculated,  walked  to  the  other  side,  applied  his  sturdy 
young  shoulder  to  what  he  judged  to  be  the  most  practical 
place,  and  heaved  mightily  —  alas,  without  results.  The 
automobile,  for  all  its  look  of  leaden  passivity,  all  at  once 
developed  a  kind  of  springiness  which,  setting  aside  its 
weight,  seemed  to  neutralize  his  efforts;  it  was  impossible  to 
get  a  purchase  on  it.  Steven  remembered  that  the  salesman 
had  displayed  a  moving  eloquence  about  its  resilient  quali- 
ties. He  gave  up  at  last,  and  stood  back  again,  out  of  breath, 
perspiring  prodigiously.  Everybody  Works  but  Father,  to 
be  sure !  Inward  laughter  assailed  him,  as  he  found  himself 
vindictively  desirous  of  letting  fly  with  a  good  sharp  stone 
into  the  middle  of  it,  and  completing  the  wreck! 

If  only  some  farmer,  or  fisherman,  or  berry-picker  would 
come  along!  Ordinarily,  these  ownerless  pastures  and  wood- 
lands were  alive  with  them,  he  thought;  but  to-day  there 
was  nobody  in  sight.  As  if  in  retort,  he  heard  a  distant 
rimior  of  some  one  boring  through  the  undergrowth  on  the 
hillside  above;  and,  directly,  running  his  eye  over  it,  made 
out  a  man,  a  little  way  below  the  top,  working  his  way  side- 
wise,  crab  fashion,  from  ledge  to  ledge;  he  had  a  pack  on  his 
back,  with  two  ends  poking  up  over  his  shoulders  which 
Steven,  after  an  instant,  perceived  to  be  a  camp-stool,  easel, 
or  some  such  equipment  as  a  painter  on  sketching-tour  might 
carry. 

''Hi!"  bawled  Steven.  "Hey!  Hello  — o!"  And  sup- 
plementing this  adjuration  by  earnest  wavings  of  the  arms, 
he  had  the  satisfaction  of  observing  the  man,  arrested,  hold- 
ing to  a  young  birch  tree,  and  staring  around  alow  and  aloft. 
Finally  discovering  Steven,  after  an  attentive  moment,  he 
waved  his  own  arm  in  turn,  and  bawled  back. 

"  All  right !  Wait  a  minute  1  "  And  therewith  laid  a  new 
course  straight  for  the  road,  or  as  nearly  straight  as  possible 
where  the  going  was  so  erratic.  It  brought  him  out  with  a 
rush  and  slither,  and  a  dry  cascade  of  twigs,  pine-cones  and 
small  fragments  of  rock,  a  dozen  yards  from  where  Steven 
stood;  and  he  shook  himself,  maintaining  his  balance  with 
an  inarticulate  ejaculation,  looking  towards  Steve  and  grin- 


58  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

ning.  He  had  on  an  old  blue  jersey,  an  old  pair  of  corduroy 
trousers,  an  unbelievably  old  slouch  hat  with  a  short- 
stemmed  black  pipe  stuck  in  the  ragged  band  in  the  front  of 
it;  the  sketching  apparatus  lumbered  behind  him.  The 
young  man's  whole  acquaintance  embraced  no  such  figure, 
yet,  as  the  other  advanced,  Steven  was  aware  of  a  bewilder- 
ing familiarity  about  his  gait,  his  shoulders,  even  about  the 
cjuick  and  understanding  eye  with  which  he  took  in  Steve's 
own  plight.  The  bewilderment  cleared  off  in  a  flash ;  it  was 
Eugene  Rudd. 

Ghastly  embarrassment  invaded  Steve,  who  nevertheless 
was  sufficiently  sophisticated  not  to  be  put  out  of  counte- 
nance by  any  ordinary  mischance.  The  trouble  was,  that 
this  was  not  ordinary ;  in  one  breath  he  hoped  that  the  other 
would  not  know  him,  recognized  the  cause  of  that  puzzling 
sense  of  familiarity  to  be  a  likeness  between  this  Rudd  and 
his  own  father,  faint  and  far-off,  but  discernible,  and  remem- 
bered that  he  himself,  too,  was  ''  all  Rudd."  Indeed  a  sur- 
prised recognition,  duplicating  his  own,  but  without  a  trace 
of  any  other  feeling  —  or  it  might  be  that  Eugene  was  more 
skilful  and  ready  at  concealment  —  now  became  visible  on 
the  latter's  features. 

''  What!  Why,  it's  Steven!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Hail,  young 
Steven!  "  said  he,  with  a  laugh  in  the  same  unforced  man- 
ner; and  he  came  up  closer,  eased  his  pack  to  the  ground,  and 
moved  slowly  around  the  automobile,  inspecting  it,  with  a 
gingerly  experimental  touch  here  and  there.  Steven  experi- 
enced a  relief  as  disproportionate  to  the  circumstances  as  his 
discomfiture  had  been;  common-sense  returned;  if  the  other 
took  their  meeting  in  this  everyday  style,  why  should  he, 
Steven,  get  into  a  fluster  over  it?  Why  in  the  name  of 
reason,  should  he  get  into  a  fluster  anyhow? 

''  I  don't  know  the  first  thing  about  motor-cars,"  Eugene 
presently  confessed  with  a  kind  of  genial  concern;  "  I'm  no 
good  except  as  another  pair  of  hands.  You'll  just  have  to 
tell  me  what  you  want  me  to  do." 

Steven  explained,  finding  it  on  a  sudden  astonishingly  easy 
to  talk  to  Eugene  —  as  easy  as  if  he  had  been  any  passing 
stranger.    Furthermore,  it  prbV^ed  easy  to  work  with  him; 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON     '  59 

although  he  had  truly  described  his  ignorance  of  automo- 
biles, he  was  handy,  tolerably  muscular,  and  very  quick  at 
understanding.  Together  they  succeeded  in  hoisting  the  car 
up,  improvising  a  sort  of  combination  lever  and  support  out 
of  a  stout  fence-rail,  wedged  with  stones.  Steven  got  the 
fresh  tire  in  place,  and  they  took  turns  pumping  it  up,  an 
exercise  for  which  the  older  man  betrayed  an  unfitness  which 
Steve  noticed  with  vicarious  humiliation.  The  young  fel- 
low could  have  out-pumped  his  father,  too ;  but  this  was  not 
an  instance  of  the  advantage  of  youth  over  age,  for  his  com- 
panion was  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve  years  his  senior,  not 
yet  past  the  prime  of  life.  No,  Steven  knew  that  it  was  no 
burden  of  years  that  made  Eugene's  breath  come  gaspingly 
after  half  a  dozen  strokes,  and  the  water  bead  out  all  over 
his  face  —  his  face  that  was  a  little  blotched,  a  little  puffy, 
though  still  not  unwholesome  to  look  upon.  He  pumped  his 
spell  gallantly,  without  any  notion  of  crying  for  quarter,  and 
Steve's  sensitive  humanity  would  not  allow  him  to  hint  at 
it,  even;  instead  he  shortened  his  own  turn,  trying  to  make 
the  inequality  between  them  less  unmercifully  obvious.  It 
was  done  at  last,  and  in  concert  they  heaved  a  long  breath, 
swabbed  their  respective  foreheads,  stood  back  to  contem- 
plate their  work  and  found  it  good.  The  automobile  no 
longer  resembled  a  loathly  antediluvian  with  a  sore  hoof; 
once  more  it  was  an  able  personality,  finely  contrived  as 
a  watch,  potential  speed  shaped  in  gracious  and  flowing 
lines. 

"  What  make  is  it?  "  Eugene  asked. 

Steven  told  him ;  he  was  conscious  of  an  awkward  moment 
which  the  other  somehow  relieved  by  taking  down  his  old 
pipe  and  beginning  to  pack  it  from  an  equally  old  and  ram- 
shackle pouch.  Steven  wondered  if  the  act  was  deliberately 
conceived  to  set  him  at  ease;  but  everything  Eugene  did 
seemed  to  be  quite  simple  and  natural. 

"  You  don't  smoke?  "  he  said,  cocking  an  inquiring  eye- 
brow towards  Steven,  as  he  tamped  the  tobacco  down  with 
a  forefinger  discolored  by  many  such  operations. 

"  Cigarettes,  sometimes."  Steven  hesitated,  confronted  by 
the  fact  that  he  actually  had  no  form  of  direct  address  for 
his  new-found   relative.     In  hasty   review,   he   dismissed 


60  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 


"  Rudd  "  and  "  Mr.  Riidd  "  as  being  only  a  degree  less  im- 
possible than  '^  Uncle  Eugene,"  which,  Good  Heavens,  was 
not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  minute !  The  other  suffered  from 
no  such  indecision,  it  would  seem;  he  called  Steven  '^Steven  " 
tout  honnemejit,  which  on  the  whole  exhibited  both  good 
taste  and  good  manners,  and  Steve  had  a  lurking  fancy  that 
his  own  present  quandary  would  amuse  Eugene  Rudd  very 
much,  if  he  suspected  it.  "  I'm  awfully  obliged,"  he  said  at 
last.  '^  I  was  stuck  hopelessly,  if  you  hadn't  come  along  and 
helped." 

^'  That's  all  right.  Glad  to."  He  had  got  the  pipe  going, 
and  moved  nonchalantly  towards  his  pack.  There  seemed 
to  be  nothing  more  to  say  or  do,  but  Steven  found  that  it 
went  strongly  against  the  grain  with  him,  to  let  the  brief 
acquaintance  end  thus,  though  Eugene  appeared  to  be  en- 
tirely willing.  They  might  never  see  each  other  again — • 
blood  is  thicker  than  water  —  and  —  and  hang  it  all,  he  was 
so  decent,  drink  or  no  drink,  thought  the  young  fellow. 

"  Er  —  I  say !  "  he  called  out,  stuttering  again  over  the 
inability  to  give  this  amiable  pariah  a  name.  "  Going  in 
town?  " 

The  other  who  was  in  the  act  of  swinging  his  sketching- 
tools  to  his  shoulder,  paused ;  for  the  first  time,  he  lost  poise, 
betrayed  a  slight  uncertainty.    ''  Wh}^,  I  —  no  —  that  is  —  " 

"  He's  afraid  of  taking  advantage  of  me,"  thought  Steve, 
in  swift  sympathy.  "  Oh,  come  along!  "  he  insisted.  "  You 
were  heading  in  that  general  direction  just  now,  weren't 
you?    I'll  put  you  down  anywhere  you  say.    Come  on!  " 

An  odd  expression  came  into  the  other  Rudd's  face  at 
the  boyish  cordiality  of  that  voice  and  invitation;  without 
doubt  it  was  a  long  while  since  anyone  who  called  him  kin, 
had  showed  so  much  zest  for  his  company.  Blood  thicker 
than  water,  forsooth !  Eugene  stood  an  instant  longer  dubi- 
ously, then  laughed,  shrugged  and  walked  up  to  the  machine. 
"Young  Steven,  I  thank  you!  "  he  said,  with  a  burlesque 
gesture,  tumbled  his  goods  in  and  tumbled  in  himself.  They 
moved  off,  not  very  dashingly,  the  eccentricities  of  the  road 
preventing  any  display  of  class,  except  at  the  steering- 
wheel.  Perhaps  Steven  did  not  regret  the  necessity  for  con- 
centrating all  his  energies  on  weaving  around  the  ruts  and 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  61 

ridges;  although  the  feeling  of  constraint  was  wearing  off,  he 
could  not  be  unaffectedly  himself  in  this  companionship. 
Eugene  at  first  sat  silent,  too,  attentive  to  the  road,  with 
eyes  drawn  up  under  the  slouch  of  his  hat,  and  teeth  clenched 
around  the  stem  of  the  little  black  pipe. 

"  They  c-call  stones  of  that  size  d-dornicks  at  home,"  he 
remarked  joltingly,  as  the  car  caromed  from  one  to  the 
next.  "  Very  descriptive  word,  I've  always  thought.  Dor- 
nicks.    Sounds  j-just  like  them." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  ever  heard  it,"  said  Steven. 

*'  It's  a  back-country  sort  of  word  —  pure  Ohioese.  I  still 
call  Ohio  home.    You  don't  know  much  about  it,  I  suppose." 

"  About  Ohio?  Why,  it's  my  home  too.  I'm  from  Ohio," 
said  Steven,  surprised. 

''  Yes,  I  know,  but  —  "  Eugene  stopped,  removed  the  bat- 
tered hat,  knocked  out  his  pipe,  and  bestowed  it  scientifically 
in  its  place  again.  "  Not  much  satisfaction  in  a  pipe  while 
we're  leaping  from  peak  to  peak  like  the  wild  thunder,  as 
Lord  Byron  has  so  beautifully  and  poetically  remarked.  I 
keep  biting  my  tongue,"  he  said,  in  parenthesis,  and  went  on: 
''  I  know.  But  I  imagined  somehow  that  you  had  spent  most 
of  your  life  away  from  the  Middle  West  —  here  perhaps. 
Or  travelling,  you  know  —  Groton  —  Harvard  —  and  so 
on —  ?  "  he  finished  on  a  questioning  inflection. 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  still  home  is  home.  We've  never  given  it 
up.  At  one  time  people  rather  urged  Dad  to  make  our  place 
here  his  legal  residence  —  because  of  the  taxes,  and  all  that. 
They're  a  good  deal  fairer,  or  lighter,  anyhow,  in  this  State. 
But  he  said  no,  he'd  always  voted  in  Ohio,  and  preferred  to 
finish  out  there." 

^'  That  was  like  him,"  said  Eugene,  and  smiled.  "  Your 
father's  changed  very  little,"  he  added  after  a  minute.  ^'  He 
looked  exactly  the  same  to  me  the  other  day  as  he  did  twenty 
years  ago.  There  wasn't  anybody  else  of  the  family  along, 
was  there?  You  have  sisters?  That  Miss  Rudd  that's  just 
been  married  —  ?  " 

Steve  answered  him,  marvelling  again,  inwardly,  at  the 
ease  of  their  talk.  He  willingly  gave  the  older  man  credit 
for  the  tact  that  guided  it  —  not  so  much  tact,  after  all, 
Steven  judged,  as  genuine  interest.    Eugene's  inquiries  and 


62  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

comments  were  more  intimate  than  an  outsider's  could  have 
been,  yet  he  stopped  short  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  con- 
fidential; he  not  only  kept  away  from  that  disastrous 
brink,  he  kept  his  companion  away  from  it  likewise,  having 
perhaps  mastered  the  valuable  truth  that  we  always  dislike 
the  person  to  whom  we  have  told  too  much.  At  any  rate, 
Steve,  rehearsing  the  conversation  afterwards,  decided  that 
though  he  himself  had  certainly  talked  a  good  deal,  he  had 
not  talked  indiscreetly.  He  had  said,  for  example,  that 
Uncle  Elihu  and  the  family  had  come  on  for  Edith's  wed- 
ding. Yes,  they  still  lived  in  California,  at  Pasadena.  Oh 
yes,  Uncle  Elihu  was  very  well  and  active,  though  he  always 
seemed  to  Steven  so  much  older  than  Dad ;  really  there  was 
only  a  few  years'  difference  between  them.  Dad  and  Uncle 
El  went  out  every  morning  and  played  golf  together;  they 
could  play,  too.  Either  one  of  them  could  baste  the  ball  a 
good  way ;  they  both  stopped  and  put  on  their  glasses  when 
they  went  to  putt,  and  then  if  they  didn't  putt  in,  why 
they  could  blame  it  to  the  glasses.  Oh,  they  were  a  pair  of 
foxy  grandpas  all  right!  Natalie  Rudd?  Why,  her  name 
was  Carter,  now;  she  had  two  children.  Aleck?  He  was 
dead.  Yes,  awful  thing;  he  was  killed  in  a  railroad  accident 
here  about  three  years  ago.  It  was  in  the  papers  at  the 
time;  they  all  felt  so  sorry  for  Cousin  Judith;  she'd  never 
gotten  over  it,  of  course.  Dad  had  to  go  and  tell  her;  he  said 
it  was  the  hardest  job  he'd  ever  had  to  do  in  his  life. 

And  so  forth  and  so  on,  harmlessly.  Eugene  did  not  ask 
after  anyone  by  name  direct;  it  was  always  "your  Uncle 
Elihu,"  "  your  cousin  Mrs.  Slade,"  "  the  Chicago  relatives," 
or  some  such  phrase.  Ishmael  kept  his  distance;  he  would 
make  no  claim  to  kinship  with  Israel ! 

"  I'm  putting  you  through  a  catechism,"  he  said  apologet- 
ically; and  in  his  matter-of-fact  tone,  without  a  hint  of 
sentiment:  "  it's  interesting  to  me,  you  know.  I  haven't 
seen  anything  of  any  of  them  for  so  many  years.  Now 
right  here,  please  —  if  you'll  let  me  out —  ?  " 

They  were  just  cresting  a  rise  that  commanded  the  town 
and  harbor  and  a  wide,  wind-swept  circle  of  sea  and  sky;  a 
path  crossed  the  road,  zigzagging  off  to  left  and  right. 
Steven  brought  the  car  to  a  standstill,  and  the  other  climbed 
down. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  63 

"  I'm  not  staying  at  a  hotel.  Don't  like  'em,"  he  said, 
answering  Steve's  glance  around  over  the  boulder-strewn 
wastes.  "  I  hunted  up  a  nice,  salt  old  retired  mariner  down 
here  at  Thanksgiving  Cove  that  has  a  cottage  and  takes 
people  in  —  Cap'n  Nathan'l  Howe." 

''  Cap'n  Howe?  Why,  that's  where  some  people  I  know 
are  staying.    The  name's  Burke.    Have  you  met  them?  " 

Eugene  shook  his  head.  ^'  I  may  have,  but  I  don't  remem- 
ber. Perhaps  they  are  at  one  of  the  other  cottages.  There's 
quite  a  little  settlement  at  Thanksgiving  Cove,  and  every- 
body takes  summer-boarders,  and  everybody  is  named 
How^e.  It's  right  over  the  hill,  but  you'll  have  to  drive  into 
town  and  out  again  to  get  there  with  your  machine.  This  is 
a  short-cut  I'm  taking,  north-east  by  a  half  north  across 
Miss  Betsy  Howe's  cow-pasture,  which  brings  me  out  bear- 
ing towards  the  Cove  with  Cap'n  Howe's  house  about  two 
points  on  the  port  bow.  Well,  so  long!  "  He  went  off,  waving 
a  carelessly  friendly  salute,  the  pack  on  his  shoulders,  and 
the  outline  of  a  flask  in  one  hip-pocket,  plainly  to  be  dis- 
cerned under  the  ragged  jersey. 

Steven  drove  on,  perforce  slowly,  meditating  on  the  unob- 
trusive skill,  the  consideration  for  himself  with  which  the 
other  had  carried  off  an  awkward  situation;  and  on  the 
nicety  with  which,  at  the  end,  he  had  avoided  any  w^ord  or 
act  that  might  be  construed  as  an  overture  tow^ard  further 
acquaintance.  No,  he  was  decent,  the  young  man  thought 
again,  and  proud,  too,  after  his  fashion,  for  all  his  reddening 
nose,  and  the  whiskey-bottle  which,  manifestly,  was  the 
cause  of  his  ostracism.  "  Father  and  Uncle  El  couldn't  have 
that  tank  around,  of  course,"  thought  Steven.  '^  I  daresay 
they  stood  him  as  long  as  they  could.  It's  a  pity,  too,  be- 
cause he  must  always  have  been  nice  when  he  was  sober,  like 
to-day,  for  instance." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  Ballards  were  staying  at  The  Grandview,  which 
either  actually  was,  or  seemed  to  Steven  in  his  mood 
of  concern  for  Mary,  the  gaudiest  and  flimsiest  of 
all  the  depressingly  gaudy  and  flimsy  hotel  structures  in  the 
place.  It  was  built,  like  the  rest,  in  a  style  of  showy  false 
rusticity,  with  slight  shingle  walls  stained  green,  encircled 
by  kindling-wood  verandas  and  surmounted  by  a  monstrous 
roof  at  twenty  different  pitches.  The  stalwart  landscape 
disowned  it;  one  might  fancy  it  pinned  there  precarious  and 
temporary,  to  serve  the  needs  of  precarious  and  temporary 
visitors.  That,  at  least,  was  Steve's  impression,  as  the 
automobile  toiled  uphill  towards  it,  along  the  sandy  street. 
"  Looks  just  like  a  cheap  place  for  cheap  people,"  he  thought 
disdainfully,  and  with  a  fresh  pang  for  the  girl.  To  do  him 
justice,  the  young  man  had  no  thought  of  money  in  his  mind; 
the  adjective,  for  him,  merely  connoted  something  which 
Mary  Ballard  most  emphatically  was  not,  something  shoddy 
or  unworthy  —  Steven  himself  would  have  had  difiSculty  in 
defining  it. 

He  came  to  a  footpath  debouching  upon  the  street  from 
somewhere  within  the  hotel-grounds,  and  drew  up,  perceiving 
it  to  be  a  side-entrance  or  short  cut.  The  legend,  "  Grand- 
view  Tennis-Courts,"  .with  an  arrow  pointing  the  way,  was 
posted  up  on  the  brow  of  a  pergola  constructed  of  birch 
saplings  laid  across  a  series  of  massive  and  powerful  concrete 
columns,  two  of  which  had  come  loose  from  their  founda- 
tions, yet  still  remained  upright,  contrary  to  all  physical 
laws,  steadied  by  the  crosswise  poles!  It  was  a  miracle,  but 
like  most  miracles  susceptible  of  a  rational  explanation, 
some  unaesthetic  person  having  reamed  out  a  hole  in  one  of 
the  monoliths  which  revealed  them  to  be  hollow  and  of  a 
material  resembling  papier-mache.  They  were,  besides, 
fairly    arabesqued    with    names,    dates,    monograms    and 

64 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  65 

inscriptions  executed  with  pocket-knives  to  commemorate 
the  passage  of  previous  visitors ;  Steven  glanced  at  them  with 
another  surge  of  distaste.  Yet  the  fragrance  of  the  pines 
warm  in  sunshine  was  pleasant,  and  bright-berried  vines  and 
small  flowers  twinkled  in  the  undergrowth,  and  between 
tree-trunks  one  caught  classic  perspectives  of  the  sea.  He 
followed  the  path  towards  a  sound  of  thudding  balls  and  of 
a  voice  calling  the  game  with  attendant  outcry  and  laughter. 
There  was  a  hedge  of  evergreens  around  the  little  plaza 
where  the  courts  had  been  laid  out,  and  searching  an  open- 
ing through  it,  he  unexpectedly  beheld  Mary  on  a  bench 
with  another  girl,  looking  on  while  two  young  men  charged 
and  retreated  on  either  side  of  the  net.  ''Thirty-love!" 
Mary  was  in  the  act  of  proclaiming;  she  reached  into  a 
candy-box  on  the  seat  between  them,  with  her  eyes  still 
watchfully  fixed  on  the  players,  and  in  a  moment  cried  out 
again:  "  The  other  side,  Mr.  Pillsbury !  You  have  to  serve 
from  the  "right-hand  court  again  this  time!  "  she  directed, 
in  an  utterance  somewhat  obscured  by  the  caramel. 

''Hey?    Right?    Oh,  sure!  I  keep  forgetting." 

"  Isn't  it  ever  going  to  be  my  shoot  again?  "  queried  his 
antagonist  in  tones  of  mock  hopelessness. 

"Ask  her;  she's  the  doctor!"  retorted  Mr.  Pillsbury, 
facetiously,  taking  his  position.    "  Get  ready  now,  Al !  " 

"  My,  I  don't  see  how  you  keep  all  those  rules  in  your 
head,"  observed  the  other  girl,  also  helping  herself  to  candy. 
"  Say,  these  are  getting  all  stuck  together." 

It  was  this  little  summer  scene  that  Mr.  Steven  walked 
into,  edging  around  the  sidelines  to  keep  out  of  the  way 
of  the  players,  who,  however,  stood  with  arrested  rackets 
at  sight  of  him.  Mary  wagged  a  hand,  signalling  welcome. 
"Hello!"  And:  "Oh,  I  say,  don't  let  me  interrupt  the 
game!  "  were  his  remarks  on  reaching  her. 

"  You're  not,"  said  Mary  negligently,  and  waved  her  hand 
again.   "  Miss  Schlemmer,  Mr.  Rudd." 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you!  "  said  Miss  Schlemmer  in  a  loud, 
clear  and  somehow  extraordinarily  conventional  voice;  her 
eyes,  which  were  very  large  and  black,  missing  no  slightest 
detail  of  Steve's  appearance.  The  other  two  men  drew 
near.  "  Mr.  Rudd,  meet  Mr.  Pillsbury  and  Mr.  Strunk," 
said  the  young  lady,  in  the  same  high-pitched  recitative. 


66  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

Steven  met  Mr.  Pillsbury  and  Mr.  Strunk  accordingly. 
"  Please  go  on  playing,  or  I'll  feel  awfully  —  "  he  began. 

"  Not  so  awful  as  you  would  if  you  watched  us  for 
a  while,"  said  Mr.  Pillsbury,  epigrammatically.  "  We're 
just  beginners.  Miss  Ballard's  been  coaching  us.  She's 
made  arrangements  to  be  received  at  the  State  Insane  Asy- 
lum when  it's  all  over." 

"  You're  doing  all  right,"  said  Mary. 

"  Say,  look  here,  what  you  after?  More  candy?  "  in- 
quired Mr.  Pillsbury,  who  was  evidently  something  of  a 
wag.  Miss  Schlemmer  lamented  pointedly  that  nobody 
ever  wanted  to  teach  her. 

"■  You  and  Mr.  Rudd  play  an  exhibition  game  for  us, 
won't  you.  Miss  Ballard?  "  she  besought  them,  with  some 
manoeuvring  of  the  black  eyes. 

'^  As  far  as  I'm  concerned,  it  would  be  an  exhibition,  sure 
enough !  "  said  Steve,  and  was  amazed  at  the  immoderate 
approbation  with  which  so  very  mildly  humorous  a  speech 
was  received.  "  I  entered  in  a  tournament  once  that  they 
were  running  on  the  lose-and-drop-out-plan,  you  know,  and 
I  stayed  till  the  third  round.  Some  playing!  The  fellows  I 
was  paired  with  all  defaulted,"  he  said  soberly  —  too  soberly 
perhaps,  for  the  others  looked  uncertain  until  led  by  Mary's 
laugh.  Steven  began  to  be  conscious  of  something  artificial 
in  their  manner  towards  him;  Mary  was  herself,  as  always, 
but  the  rest  practiced  a  kind  of  ostentatious  informality, 
beneath  which  one  sensed  a  strained  anxiety  about  forms. 
His  arrival  had  broken  up  the  game;  do  or  say  what  he 
would,  not  one  of  them  could  be  persuaded  to  play  in  his 
presence.  Mr.  Strunk  said  it  was  ripping  weathah,  and 
wanted  to  know  if  Steven  drove  his  own  cah?  And  when 
Steve  said  that  he  did  and  furthermore  that  he  had  had  a 
puncture  on  the  way  over  which  accounted  for  the  fact  that 
he  was  late  for  his  appointment  with  Miss  Ballard,  and  the 
other  fact  that  he  had  a  busted  knuckle  and  sundry  grease- 
splotches —  when  Steve,  in  an  attempt  at  lightness,  had 
recited  all  this,  lo,  it  had  an  effect  exactly  contrary  to  his 
intention,  everybody  listening  as  solemn  as  a  hearse ! 

*'  You  burst  your  knuckle?  "  said  Miss  Schlemmer,  in 
acute  —  and  it  may   be  observed,  much  more  correctly- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  67 

worded  —  sympathy ;  "  How  awful !  Docs  it  hurt?  You 
ought  to  put  some  peroxide  on  it  right  away." 

''  Or  dioxygen.    Eyether  one  is  good,"  said  Mr.  Strunk. 

''  Oh,  it's  not  so  bad  as  all  that,"  said  Steve,  mentally 
registering  a  vow  never  to  mention  any  sort  of  injury  to  any 
part  of  his  anatomy  whatever,  again  —  at  least,  not  to 
strangers  who  might  take  him  seriously.  He  was  relieved 
when  Mary  announced  herself  ready,  and  parted  from  the 
others,  still  feeling  himself  a  species  of  target  for  civilities 
which  seemed  singularly  to  lack  spontaneity. 

'*  They  didn't  like  it  much,  my  coming  along  and  taking 
you  ofif  this  way,"  he  confided  to  Mary  as  they  got  into  the 
car,  and  he  took  the  wheel.  '^  Well,  I  don't  blame  them. 
Then,  when  I  saw  they  were  —  well,  peeved,  you  know, 
about  it,  I  thought  I'd  be  real  clever  and  entertaining, 
but  —  "  he  shook  his  head,  grinning.  ''  Did  you  ever  see 
such  a  fizzle?  " 

"  No,  that  wasn't  quite  what  was  the  matter.  The  trouble 
was  they  all  knew  you  were  one  of  the  Rudds,  and  I  think 
they  expected  you  to  be  terribly  smart  and  offish,  and  all 
that,"  said  Mary  simply.  "  Nearly  everybody  in  the  hotel 
went  over  the  other  day  to  see  ^  Journey's  End '  —  on 
Thursday,  you  know  —  ?  " 

Steve  nodded,  with  his  eyes  on  the  road.  For  some  years 
past  his  father  had  set  apart  Thursday  afternoons  at  the 
season  when  the  gardens  were  in  full  flower,  for  the  public 
to  be  admitted  and  shown  the  lovely  and  unusual  spectacle. 
Mrs.  Rudd  made  it  a  subject  for  much  complaint  to  her 
friends:  it  completely  destroyed  all  feeling  of  privacy  for 
the  family  —  perfect  pandemonium  the  whole  day  long; 
and  the  people  were  so  unappreciative,  swarming  all  over 
everything,  and  trying  to  get  into  places  which  had  been 
roped  off  or  placarded  with  polite  requests  to  keep  out  — 
you'd  think  they'd  understand  or  have  more  consideration; 
and  they  were  forever  scrawling  their  names,  or  worse  still, 
scratching  them  with  penknives  on  those  fine  marbles,  the 
vases  and  terminal  figures  and  the  other  things  that  Mr. 
Rudd  had  sent  to  Italy  for,  and  breaking  off  or  pulling  up 
pieces  of  the  flowers  and  shrubs  for  their  silly  "  souvenirs  "; 
the  gardeners  had  to  watch  them  every  minute.    One  day  a 


68  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

little  boy  fell  into  the  Victoria  Regis  basin,  and  was  all  but 
drowned,  only  Angus  McCrae  —  that  was  the  head  gar- 
dener's boy,  the  crippled  one  —  fished  him  out  somehow,  and 
then  his  mother  spanked  him,  instead  of  being  grateful,  and 
never  even  dreamed  of  giving  Angus  anything,  or  even  of 
saying  thank  you!  "  Oh,  you  may  laugh,  my  dear,  but  it's 
one  of  the  trials  of  my  existence.  Mr.  Rudd  is  so  democratic 
and  so  public-spirited,  I  can't  say  anji^hing!  "  the  lady  would 
conclude  with  a  sigh.  Cynics  were  not  wanting,  however, 
who  intimated  that  since  the  affliction  classified  "  Journey's 
End  "  with  the  celebrated  ruins,  county-seats,  and  abodes  of 
royalty  of  the  old  world,  her  annoyance  might  not  be  very 
profound,  after  all. 

^'  They  went  over  and  couldn't  get  in,  because  of  its  being 
so  soon  after  the  wedding,  you  know  —  ?  "  Mary  went  on. 
Steve  nodded  again.  ^'  That  nice  old  Scotchman,  McCrae, 
went  out  and  explained,  and  told  them  everything  was  at 
sixes  and  sevens,  so  that  Mr.  Rudd  had  decided  the  place 
must  be  kept  closed  for  once.  So  they  had  to  come  back 
disappointed,  and  there  were  some  very  crisp  remarks 
made."  She  smiled  at  the  recollection  of  some  of  the  re- 
marks. ''  Of  course  they  didn't  know  that  I  knew  you. 
They'll  be  painfully  careful  after  this,  and  I  shan't  have  any 
more  fun,"  she  ended  with  comic  regret. 

"  I  don't  see  why  it  should  make  any  difference,"  Steve 
said.  She  did  not  answer,  and  after  a  minute  he  asked,  not 
without  diffidence:  '^  What  kind  of  a  place  is  '  The  Grand- 
view,'  anyhow,  Mary?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  —  it's  good  enough."  Mary  paused ;  if  Steven 
had  looked  at  her  he  would  have  seen  her  soft,  fresh  young 
features  settle  slowly  and  one  might  have  fancied  reluctantly 
into  an  expression  of  decision,  as  of  one  who  braces  himself 
to  await  the  burning  of  a  fuse,  or  of  a  poor  swimmer  making 
up  his  mind  to  dive,  or,  in  a  less  handsome,  but  more  accu- 
rately descriptive  figure,  a  person  about  to  swallow  a  dose 
of  hateful  medicine.  But  Steve's  attention  w^as  taken  up 
with  the  task  of  jockeying  his  car  just  then,  and  when  she 
spoke  again,  if  there  was  a  corresponding  hardening  in  her 
voice,  it  also  escaped  him.  "  We  have  to  go  to  an  inexpen- 
sive place,  and  '  The  Grandview  '  is  only  ten  dollars  a  week," 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  69 

said  Mary  deliberately.  "  I  really  don't  mind,  though." 
And  as  Steve  turned  a  challenging  eye  towards  her:  "  Really 
I  don't!  "  she  insisted  with  a  great  deal  of  spirit  and  good- 
huinor.    ''  I  always  have  a  good  time  wherever  I  am!  " 

''You  make  your  own  good  time!  "  Steve  declared,  not 
trying  to  keep  the  note  of  admiration  out  of  his  voice.  How 
well  she  took  it,  was  his  thought;  the  place  was  as  ''mucker" 
as  Hester  had  called  it  —  anybody  could  guess  that,  not 
so  much  from  what  Mary  said  as  from  what  she  didn't  say  1 
And  she  was  not  used  to  —  to  that  sort  of  thing,  yet  she 
was  standing  it,  making  the  best  of  it,  with  the  finest  temper 
in  the  world.  Her  mother,  too;  Steve  called  up  the  older 
woman's  resolute  animation  of  voice  and  features,  her  whole 
presence  delicately  distinguished  — in  Clara  Stillman's 
old  clothes  1  —  with  a  pang.  The  young  man  was  not  the 
less  loyal  to  his  own  mother  for  doubting  if  she  would  bear 
adversity  nearly  so  well.  The  Ballard  women  were  a  pair  of 
thoroughbreds,  by  George !    It  was  a  shame ! 

"  We  have  to  stay  so7^?ewhere,  and  it's  always  interesting, 
one  way  or  another,"  said  Mary,  still  with  that  heart-break- 
ingly  cheerful  philosophy  —  so  the  humane  young  fellow 
thought.  "  I've  never  minded  a  bit  on  my  own  account  — 
being  poor,  you  know,"  she  brought  out  bluntly,  though  after 
a  barely  perceptible  hesitation.  "  jVIoney  isn't  of  any  real 
consequence,  I  hate  not  having  enough  for  Mother,  though. 
She  has  all  those  old-timey  notions,  and  it's  harder  for  her. 
She  thinks  I'm  terribly  free-and-easy.  Oh,  well!"  And 
with  that,  and  a  shrug,  Miss  Ballard  sprang  suddenly  to 
another  subject,  before  Steven's  slower-moving  masculine 
intelligence  could  act  to  pin  her  down,  as  it  were,  to  the  one 
in  hand.  "  Do  you  know,  Steve,  after  you  were  talking 
about  your  friend  this  Mr.  Burke,  the  other  day,  I  got  to 
wondering  if  I  didn't  know  of  him  already.  There  was  a  girl 
named  Francie  Burke  at  the  Temple  School  in  Washington 
that  winter  I  was  there,  and  I  know  her  father  was  in  the 
army.  Washington  schools  are  always  crammed  full  of 
army  and  navy  girls.  This  girl  had  a  brother  Jack  that  she 
was  all  the  time  talking  about  —  " 

"Jack  Burke!"  Steven  shouted  out;  "That's  the  same 
one.    Must  be!    There'd  hardly  be  two,  with  fathers  in  the 


70  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

army,  and  he  has  a  sister,  only  I  don't  know  what  her  name 
is.  Must  be!  Does  she  look  anything  like  him?  You  saw 
him  standing  on  the  platform,  don't  you  remember?  Isn't 
that  funny?  The  whole  family  are  here  staying  over  at 
Thanksgiving  Cove." 

Further  comparing  of  notes  tended  to  confirm  them. 
Mary's  Burkes,  she  thought,  came  from  Ohio,  too  —  that  is, 
if  they  could  be  said  to  come  from  any  fixed  point,  army 
people  being  perpetually  on  the  move,  accustomed  to  strike 
or  set  up  a  home  anywhere,  on  the  shortest  notice.  "  I  can, 
too,  for  that  matter,"  the  girl  interpolated  with  a  rather  acid 
little  laugh.  ^'  I've  lived  in  ever  so  many  places.  I  was  only 
at  that  Washington  school  for  one  term,  about  five  months, 
so  I  really  didn't  have  much  chance  to  make  friends,  but  I 
knew  Francie  as  well  as  I  did  anybody.  I  remember  she 
told  me  she  was  born  at  some  way-off  post  up  in  Montana  or 
somewhere,  and  her  brother  down  on  the  Mexican  border. 
But  they  came  from  Ohio  to  begin  with.  Why,  I  didn't  get 
a  good  look  at  your  Mr.  Burke  the  other  day,  Steve;  I 
wouldn't  know  him  again.  Francie  wasn't  very  pretty,  but 
awfully  sweet  and  wholesome." 

The  question  was  so  interesting  that  to  go  over  to  Thanks- 
giving Cove  and  settle  it,  seemed  to  be  the  next  step  in  order 
—  imperative,  really.  Steven  suggested  it,  but  Mary  was 
ready;  she  was  always  ready  for  everything.  They  found 
the  road  skirting  the  shore  in  passably  good  condition,  and 
erelong  came  upon  an  irregular  gathering  of  houses,  dories, 
fishnets  drying  in  the  yards,  and  fences  whereof  every  paling 
bore  an  inverted  stone  jug;  and  after  some  inquiry  drew  up 
before  a  sound-looking  old  clapboarded  dwelling  set  a  little 
back  and  up,  and  approached  by  a  paved  walk  —  paved, 
that  is,  naturally,  by  the  granite  outcroppings  which  here- 
abouts conveniently  occurred  in  a  series  of  ledges  or  step- 
ping stones.  It  was  a  quiet  place,  the  only  people  in  sight 
being  two  ladies  sitting  under  an  old-fashioned  arbor  of 
whitewashed  lattice-work  and  wild  grape  vines,  that  made 
a  pretty  pattern  on  their  white  dresses.  The  hillside  yard 
was  not  well  kept;  the  grass  showed  only  in  sparse  mats 
between  the  rocks,  and  knots  of  golden-rod  and  wild  asters 
grew  at  random ;  yet  it  had  a  character  which  moved  Steven 
to  say:  "  Doesn't  look  much  like  '  The  Grandview,'  does  it?  " 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  71 

They  started  up  the  path.  The  two  ladies  under  their 
arbor  were  occupied,  one  with  a  hipful  of  darning,  the  other 
with  some  books  or  papers  from  which  she  was  reading 
aloud.  They  could  hear  her  clear  voice:  "...  Let  us  not 
cease  to  do  our  utmost  as  good  citizens,  and  whatever  comes, 
even  the  worst  results  of  our  adversaries'  blind  and  reckless 

policy  ..." 

''Blooie!  What  have  we  struck?  A  suffrage  convention?  " 
ejaculated  Steve  under  his  breath.  But  at  that  moment,  hear- 
ing footsteps,  the  reader  looked  up;  she  rose  a  little  awk- 
wardly, trying  to  hold  a  mass  of  some  sort  of  manuscript 
from  sliding  off  her  knees,  and  at  the  same  time  to  put  back 
a  flying  strand  of  auburn  hair  from  her  forehead  and  eyes. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  isn't  this  Captain  Howe's  —  ?  "  Mary 
began  to  ask,  and  stopped  short  with  an  exclamation;  they 
stared  for  an  instant,  and  then  each  one  spoke  the  other's 
name. 

It  appeared  that  Major  Burke  and  Jack  had  gone  fishing; 
but  Jack's  mother  and  sister,  thus  stumbled  upon,  were  sin- 
cerely cordial  to  young  Mr.  Rudd,  of  whom,  they  said,  they 
had  heard  a  great  deal,  and  not  less  so  to  Miss  Ballard  whom 
the  other  girl  "  placed  "  at  once  though  it  was  five  years 
since  their  Temple  School  acquaintance;  the  army  family 
had  changed  posts  as  many  times  in  the  interval.  ''  But 
we've  actually  had  nearly  ten  months  at  home  —  the  Colum- 
bus garrison,  you  know  —  can't  tell  how  much  longer  it  will 
last,  of  course.  I  had  a  grand  winter,  anyhow.  We  have 
ever  so  many  relatives  there,  and  lots  of  Mother's  friends, 
that  w^ere  girls  when  she  was;  they  all  went  to  school  to- 
gether and  came  out  together,  and  everything.  It  made  it 
lovely  for  Jack  and  me,"  said  Miss  Burke  with  enthusiasm. 
She  was,  as  Mary  had  reported,  not  pretty,  but  of  a  pleasing, 
healthy,  happy  aspect,  with  unruly  red  hair,  a  good  many 
freckles,  and  a  pair  of  bright  blue  eyes,  very  strong,  stead- 
fast and  open. 

"  I  think  I'd  have  known  you  anywhere  for  Jack's  sister. 
I  never  saw  such  a  likeness!  "  Steven  told  her. 

She  colored,  looking  extraordinarily  gratified,  and  gave 
her  mother  a  triumphant  glance.     "  There,  Mother,  you 


seel 


t " 


72  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

It  was  a  piece  of  by-play  which  Mrs.  Burke  thought  her- 
self obliged  to  explain,  with  a  smile.  "  They  don't  really 
look  like  each  other  at  all,  Mr.  Rudd  —  at  least,  that's  what 
/  insist.  Every  time  the  subject's  mentioned,  it  creates  a 
great  schism  in  the  Burke  household.  The  fact  is  they  both 
do  look  like  their  grandfather  Burke,  one  in  a  man's  way  and 
one  in  a  girl's  way  —  " 

''  Well,  that  comes  to  the  same  thing,  Mother  —  " 

"  Not  quite,  my  dear.  Show  him  that  picture,  Francie,  and 
then  he'll  see  what  I  mean,"  commanded  her  mother,  turning 
again  to  the  darning.  She  picked  up  from  the  bench  beside 
her  a  big  pair  of  tortoise-shell-rimmed  spectacles,  put  them 
on  without  a  particle  of  vanity  or  affectation,  bit  a  thread  off, 
ran  her  hand  into  the  toe  of  a  sock,  and  set  to  work.  "  Sit 
down,  both  of  you,  there's  plenty  of  room,  though  it  doesn't 
look  as  if  there  were,  with  all  this  muss,"  she  said,  casting  a 
glance  around  over  the  tops  of  the  goggles.  "  Just  push  that 
old  bandbox  and  the  other  stuff  to  one  side,  Mr.  Rudd  —  or 
on  the  floor  will  do.  They  can't  be  hurt  much  after  all  these 
years,  and  what  they've  been  through  already." 

Steven,  obeying,  cleared  off  the  bench  and  deposited  at 
the  feet  of  the  company,  first,  a  large,  square  old  leather  case 
of  a  species  somewhere  between  a  valise  and  a  portable  desk, 
with  a  lock  and  key,  and  a  collapsible  pocket  at  one  side,  its 
pleatings  cracked  clean  through  at  every  crease;  then  a 
miscellaneous  stack  of  ragged  newspapers,  account-books  or 
journals,  and  letters  with  and  without  envelopes,  bound  up 
in  faggots  and  marked  with  names  and  dates;  and  finally  a 
stupendous  round  bandbox,  of  unguessed  age  but  still  stout 
and  intact,  covered  with  a  pinkish  cream-colored  paper, 
with  a  medallion  on  one  side,  representing  Battery  Park, 
New  York  City,  according  to  the  flourishing  copperplate  in- 
scription underneath.  The  band  was  playing  in  Battery 
Park,  ladies  in  flowing,  low-necked  dresses  were  walking  out 
with  little  girls  amazingly  pantalctted,  and  being  accosted 
by  high-stocked  gentlemen ;  and  in  the  distance  a  full-rigged 
frigate  was  to  be  seen  making  port.  On  top  of  the  picture 
was  a  spread-eagle  with  a  streamer  in  its  beak  bearing  the 
motto,  E  pluribus  unum.  Altogether,  it  was  a  monument  to 
the  bandbox  makers'  art,  and  Steve  surveyed  it  with  par- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  73 

donable  curiosity,  pausing  before  he  set  it  down,  though  it 
was  packed  full  of  more  papers,  books  or  what-not,  and  cor- 
respondingly heavy  to  hold. 

"  I  think  that  thing's  a  perfect  gem,  don't  you?  "  Frances 
said,  noticing  his  interest.  *'  The  decorations  are  so  naive 
and  serious  and  ridiculous.  But  look  how  well  it's  made! 
It's  just  as  strong  as  it  ever  was,  and  it's  been  knocked 
around  like  everything.  That's  the  way  the  people  them- 
selves seem  to  have  been  in  the  old  days,"  said  the  girl  medi- 
tatively, "  a  lot  of  fancy  stuff  in  poor  taste  on  the  surface, 
but  always  something  sound  and  solid  down  underneath." 

''  Francie's  getting  to  be  a  profound  philosopher  since 
she's  been  digging  in  these  old  ruins,"  said  her  mother  with 
amusement  and  tolerance.  But  the  other  two  young  people 
had  been  rather  impressed  by  this  little  dissertation,  and 
looked  at  the  fragment  of  antiquity  with  a  new  respect. 

"  How  old  is  it,  do  you  know?  "  Mary  asked. 

"  About  eighteen-thirty-six  w^ould  be  its  date,  I  think," 
said  Miss  Burke,  cocking  her  head  on  one  side  profession- 
ally; ''Not  a  very  interesting  period."  And,  seeing  frank 
non-comprehension  on  their  faces,  she  added,  coloring  a 
little,  ''  I'm  studying  up  all  that,  you  know  —  periods  and 
antiques  and  collectors'  fads,  and  all  those  things.  You  have 
to,  if  you're  going  to  do  interior  decorating.  I'm  going  to 
take  a  course  this  winter." 

Mary  murmured  something  about  its  being  awfully  orig- 
inal and  interesting,  looking  somewhat  dubiously  at  the  sur- 
rounding junk  meanwhile.  But  Stephen  was  genuinely 
roused. 

''  Interior  decorating?  Something  new,  isn't  it?  It  would 
be  just  the  thing  a  girl  could  do,  though.  But  I  shouldn't 
have  thought  it  would  take  so  much  study.  Do  you  have  to 
go  through  all  these  old  books  and  things  —  ?  " 

Both  Burkes  chorused  an  amused  negative.  "  Oh  no,  no! 
This  isn't  part  of  the  course.  This  hasn't  got  anything  to  do 
with  it.  These  are  just  some  old  family  papers  I'm  sorting 
out,"  said  Francie. 

Steven  eyed  the  heaps.  "  Must  have  been  a  good-sized 
family,"  he  ventured,  with  a  soberness  which  by  no  means 
misled  Mrs.  Burke,  who  laughed  again. 


74  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  It's  not  all  ours,  sir!  Some  of  it  doesn't  really  belong  to 
the  Burke  tribe  at  all.  That's  one  reason  it  has  to  be  sorted; 
it's  the  accumulation  of  years,  part  important,  part  worth- 
less, I  daresay.  Those  old  newspaper-clippings,  for  instance. 
Francie  was  reading  one  of  them  just  as  you  came  up  —  the 
dullest  stuff  that  ever  was  put  on  paper,  but  she  has  to  go 
over  it  all.  It's  a  sort  of  biography  of  General  Burke  that 
she's  helping  prepare." 

"  Somebody  wants  to  write  him  up  —  he  was  my  grand- 
father, you  know,  or  rather  you  don't  know  —  for  the 
Pioneer  Society,  or  the  Loyal  Legion,  or  something,"  said 
Francie.  "  They  came  to  the  family  for  all  the  details,  of 
course.  They'd  found  out  somehow  that  he  had  started  to 
write  his  life,  and  then  he  died  before  he'd  got  it  finished, 
so  it  hadn't  ever  been  printed.  It  was  all  in  the  garret  of 
my  uncle's  house.  Father  said  a  member  of  the  family  ought 
to  look  it  over,  because  some  outsider  might  publish  some- 
thing that  the  old  gentleman  hadn't  decided  about,  or  that 
oughtn't  to  go  in  anyhow;  but  he  took  one  look  and  said  he 
wouldn't  do  it,  and  my  uncle  took  a  look  and  said  he 
wouldn't,  and  nobody  would,  so  I  pitched  in.  They  all  kept 
telling  me  I  was  the  antiquarian  anyhow,  and  the  best  per- 
son for  the  job!    That's  their  crude  idea  of  a  joke." 

"  General  Burke?    Oh,  he  was  in  the  army,  too?  " 

"  No,  only  for  a  little  while.  He  was  a  lawyer.  Here's 
that  picture,  Mr.  Rudd."  She  had  picked  out  one  from  a 
sliding  pile  of  daguerreotypes,  and  now  held  it  towards  him. 

"  Oh,  they've  got  oodles  of  those  at  my  mother's  old  home 
in  Albany,"  said  Mary,  interested  now,  craning  over  his 
shoulder.  Between  them,  with  some  laughter,  slanting  the 
picture  this  way  and  that,  they  captured  the  likeness  of  a 
young  or  youngish  man  in  mid-nineteenth-century  costume, 
with  hair  brushed  back  in  a  mighty,  upstanding  wave  above 
a  mildly  humorous  face,  to  which  Frances  Burke's  did  indeed 
bear  some  faint  resemi)lance.  It  was  not  particularly  at- 
tractive, not  striking  in  any  way ;  so  that  Miss  Ballard  and 
Mr.  Rudd,  who  were  well-brought-up  young  people,  found 
themselves,  as  they  confided  to  each  other  afterwards,  more 
or  less  floored  for  the  proper  thing  to  say.  It  was  easy  to 
see  that  the  Burkes  were  vastly  proud  of  this  ancestor;  ^nd, 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  76 

after  all,  Steve  reflected,  the  old  boy  showed  up  as  well  as 
his  own  grandfather,  David,  whose  daguerreotype  reposed 
in  the  attic  of  the  Rudd  home.  He  was  about  to  take  a 
chance  —  as  he  said  later  —  on  telling  Miss  Burke  that  she 
was  the  living  image  of  the  general,  when  Mary  had  a  better 
inspiration. 

"  Oh  look,  somebody  has  WTitten  something  in  the  other 
side  of  the  case!    May  we  read  it,  Mrs.  Burke?  " 

"  Why,  certainly.  It's  a  contemporary  opinion.  Nobody 
ever  liked  that  picture,"  said  the  lady. 

The  note  was  in  a  small,  firm  handwriting,  legible  as 
print,  on  a  square  of  cardboard  fitted  inside  the  case. 
^'  Sorry,  dear  Nat.  This  thing  is  neither  just  nor  merciful! 
J.  V."  Steven  read  aloud.  '^  That  must  have  been  somebody 
that  knew  him  pretty  well,"  he  said,  chuckling. 

'^  It  was  Doctor  Vardaman,"  said  Mrs.  Burke,  darning 
away  steadily.  "  Yes,  he  was  a  very  old  friend.  Major 
Burke  is  named  for  him  —  Jack  too,  of  course.  Doctor  John 
Vardaman." 

"  There're  lots  of  letters  from  him,"  said  Frances.  ''  Let 
me  tell  you  they're  life-savers,  too!  Such  a  plain  hand,  it's 
no  trouble  at  all,  and  almost  all  the  others  are  perfectly 
ghastly  —  you  have  to  puzzle  them  out  line  by  line.  That's 
some  kind  of  a  diary  he  kept,  that  big  lot  of  exercise-books 
or  whatever  they  are.  How^  do  you  suppose  that  came  to  be 
mixed  in  with  Grandpa's  things,  Mother?  " 

Steven  and  Mary  stooped  together,  and  each  picked  up  one 
of  the  doctor's  volumes.  They  were  bound  in  pasteboard 
covers,  overlaid  with  marbled  paper,  curling  and  crumbling 
at  the  edges,  and  bore  labels:  "J.  Vardaman,  1845-1847"; 
"  J.  Vardaman,  1849  "  and  so  on,  for  some  fifteen  years. 
Steven  opened  his  at  random,  turning  the  leaves,  and  there 
arose  a  faint  odor,  musty,  not  wholly  unpleasant,  as  if  to 
the  young  man's  quick  fancy,  it  might  have  blown  from 
dead  gardens ;  with  the  thought,  he  came  upon  a  mummified 
flower,  parchment-like  in  texture,  dried  and  flattened  be- 
yond recognition,  the  very  wraith  of  a  flower.  He  caught 
sight  of  some  lines  of  verse:  ^'  To  Louise  wearing  a  rose,"  in 
the  same  distinct  handwriting.  Only  a  short  while,  and 
Steven  was  to  know  that  handwriting  and  all  the  contents  of 


76  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

the  diaries  better  than  he  desired;  but  he  had  no  suspicion 
of  what  was  in  store  as  he  closed  the  book  hurriedly.  All 
very  well  for  Miss  Burke  perhaps,  but  what  was  he  doing,  a 
stranger,  unauthorized,  prying  into  the  closets  of  the  helpless 
dead,  raking  over  poor  sentimentalities  that  were  half  a 
century  old  when  he  was  born? 

Mrs.  Burke  was  answering  her  daughter's  question. 
"  Why,  I  don't  know,  unless  the  doctor  gave  them  to  your 
grandfather  to  refer  to,  for  dates  or  something.  He  knew 
that  General  Burke  was  writing  an  autobiography,  and  there 
must  have  been  a  great  deal  in  the  diaries  about  early  days 
and  their  own  young  life,  that  would  have  interested  them 
both.  I  wish  now  that  when  I  had  the  chance  while  they 
were  alive,  I  had  gotten  them  to  tell  me  something  about  —  " 

"  You  knew  them?  Did  you  know  them?  "  cried  out  Mary 
and  Steven  in  a  breath;  it  was  to  them  as  if  Mrs.  Burke 
had  casually  mentioned  a  personal  acquaintance  with  the 
Pharaohs!  She  burst  out  laughing  at  their  ingenuous  be- 
trayal of  astonishment. 

"  Of  course  I  knew  them.  It's  not  so  very  long  ago  —  at 
least  it  doesn't  seem  long  to  me.  To  be  sure  I  was  only  a 
young  girl  —  not  so  old  as  any  of  you.  But  General  Burke 
was  living  still  when  we  were  married.  He  died  when 
Francie  was  a  little  tiny  baby;  we  were  way  off  there  at 
Fort  Missoula,  and  couldn't  come  home.  Dear  me!  "  She 
suspended  the  needle  with  a  short  sigh,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
some  vista  unseen  by  the  rest;  then  fell  to  again  philo- 
sophically. "  He  was  the  dearest  old  gentleman.  They 
both  were." 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  the  course  of  the  next  few  days,  Mrs.  Lawson  Rudd 
went  to  call  on  the  Burke  ladies,  whether  acting  on 
a  hint  from  Steven,  or  out  of  her  own  natural,  maternal 
desire  to  know  the  people  about  whom  her  son  was  so 
enthusiastic,  who  shall  say?  Mrs.  Lawson,  to  tell  the 
truth,  was  not  very  maternally-minded ;  even  when  the  chil- 
dren were  small  with  amusing  kittenish  ways,  charming  ob- 
jects to  exercise  one's  taste  in  dress  upon,  she  had  not  been 
over-devoted  to  the  nursery.  And  to  see  them  inevitably 
and  irrevocably  grown  up,  which  is  a  tragedy  for  all  mothers, 
was  mainly  tragical  for  Steven's  by  the  hideous  implication 
of  advancing  years.  No  polite  tarradiddles  from  her  associ- 
ates could  veil  their  knowledge  that  a  woman  with  two  full- 
fledged  daughters,  and  one  ditto  son,  of  marriageable  age, 
and  actually  getting  married,  however  fresh  her  appearance, 
could  not  be  far  short  of  —  ahem!  "  Poor  Mama,  how  she 
will  hate  her  grandchildren!  "  Edith  used  to  say,  with  her 
precocious  astuteness. 

Whatever  Mrs.  Rudd  had  in  mind  when  she  went,  how- 
ever, she  came  back  sufficiently  well  pleased  to  call  Mrs. 
Burke  (who  must  be  about  her  own  age,  but  looked  ten  years 
older)  a  charming  woman;  to  pronounce  Miss  Burke  (who 
was  not  good  looking  and  had  rather  abnormal  bookish 
tastes)  very  attractive;  and  to  say  that  Major  Burke  (who 
met  her  with  boyish  admiration,  and  an  honest  and  openly 
expressed  disbelief  that  she  could  be  Steve's  mother)  was 
perfectly  delightful.  Army  people  were  always  delightful. 
Besides,  they  had  discovered  so  many  mutual  friends;  the 
Burkes  knew  everybody  at  home,  in  Washington,  every- 
where; Major  Burke  had  been  one  of  the  army  officers  de- 
tailed to  represent  our  Government  in  some  capacity  at  the 
last  Paris  World's  Fair;  he  was  in  the  Engineer  Corps,  the 
highest  branch  of  the  Service,  etc.,  etc.  She  had  them  to 
dinner  and  otherwise  showed  them  such  a  number  of  nice 

77 


78  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

little  attentions  that  Miss  Stillman  who  was  invited  to  the 
dinner,  remarked  to  another  guest  that  it  was  easy  to  see 
their  hostess  had  no  fears  for  either  Steven  or  Hester.  "  The 
girl  Burke  is  too  homely,  and  the  boy  probably  hasn't  got  a 
cent  of  his  own,  so  that  settles  them  both,"  said  Clara,  kind- 
heartedly.  "  Hester  Rudd  can  be  trusted  not  to  lose  her  head 
over  any  man  without  money.  Steve  isn't  nearly  so  practi- 
cal; any  pretty  face  could  catch  him.  But  her  best  friend 
couldn't  accuse  Miss  Burke  of  having  a  pretty  face.  So  it's 
quite  safe." 

The  other  guest  was  Clara's  aunt,  Mrs.  Ballard,  and  she 
agreed  readily  that  it  was  quite  safe.     She  almost  always 
agreed,  or  disagreed  only  when  she  saw  that  it  was  expected 
of  her,  and  as  she  was  a  person  of  extended  acquaintance  and 
experience,  her  judgment  was  seldom  at  fault.    The  habit, 
contrary  to  what  might  be  supposed,  did  not  make  her 
society  tiresome  or  monotonous,  because  of  another  habit, 
native  or  acquired,  of  carrying  on  the  conversation  exactly 
in  the  vein  of  the  present  company.    If  they  were  gossiping, 
Mrs.  Ballard  gossiped;  if  displaying  culture,  who  so  cultured 
as  she?    If  exchanging  housewives'  information,^  she  invari- 
ably had  an  item  ready.    Chiffons,  beauty-specialists,  rest- 
cures,  the  newest  opera-singer,  the  newest  scandal,  the  new- 
est creed,  all  was  one  to  Ellen  Ballard.     So  that  she  now 
said,  with  a  little,  meaning  smile,  a  little,  pointed,  drawling 
utterance:    ''At  any  rate,  Hester  appears  to  be  stalking 
other  game  just  now  —  rather  big  game." 
"  Oh  yes.     Isn't  George  perfectly  fatuous?  " 
It  was  after  the  dinner  that  this  conversation  took  place. 
The  Rudd  family-party  had  all  dispersed  by  this  time,  and 
of  the  guests  there  remained  only  George  and  his  sister 
staying  on  at  the  Harbor  because,  presumably,  they  wanted 
to,  and  the  Ballards  staying  on  at  the  Beach  because  they 
had  to,  perhaps.    Nobody  knew  how  they  managed  to  stay 
anywhere.     The  seashore  season  was  waning;  autumn  ad- 
vanced; people  with  nothing  to  do  had  gone  to  the  moun- 
tains, people  with  something  to  do  back  to  their  desks  and 
offices.     Outdoors  it  grew  uncomfortable  with  fogs,  sharp 
gales,  the  first  frost.    To-night  there  was  a  fire  of  drift-wood 
in  the  living-room;  Mrs.  Rudd,  on  a  low  sofa  drawn  up  by 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  79 

the  hearth,  was  pouring  the  coffee,  a  rite  which  she  would 
never  leave  to  the  butler,  insisting  on  performing  it  with  her 
owp.  small,  white,  plump  hands  which  looked  very  pretty  all 
twinkling  with  oddments  of  jewellery,  hovering  over  the  tray. 
Mrs.  Burke  sat  in  a  deep  chair  near  by ;  Mr.  Rudd  had  taken 
her  husband  into  the  glassed-in  porch  that  lay  beyond  for 
a  view  of  nobody  knows  what  botanical  marvel  that  Mc- 
Crae  had  succeeded  in  blooming,  hybridizing  or  what-not 
after  countless  patient  trials.  The  army-man  was  himself 
an  amateur  of  gardening,  it  seemed;  he  hoped  some  day  to 
settle  down  on  a  little  farm  and  spend  the  rest  of  his  life 
planting  things  and  watching  them  grow,  he  told  his  host 
optimistically.    Lawson  warmed  to  him  from  that  moment. 

In  the  adjoining  room,  the  younger  Burkes  and  Rudds  had 
wound  up  the  Victrola  and  were  essaying  the  latest  dance- 
step;  they  did  not  miss  or  humanely  pretended  not  to  miss 
one  couple  upon  whom  Miss  Stillman  now  directed  a  glance 
of  steely  penetration.  In  a  window-alcove  her  brother  and 
Hester  probably  supposed  themselves  unobserved ;  the  young 
lady  was  kneeling  on  the  cushioned  seat,  her  light  draperies 
foaming  all  about,  her  feet  cunningly  tucked  up  under  her 
in  the  prettiest  of  attitudes  with  one  finger  upraised  while 
she  put  her  pet  cat  through  some  trick.  It  was  a  large,  coal- 
black,  heavily  furred  cat  with  the  collarette  and  plume-like 
tail  of  the  Maine  species  called  "coon-cats";  and,  sitting 
upright,  he  observed  Hester  with  animal  gravity.  _  As  a 
rendering  of  the  witch  and  her  age-old  familiar,  it  was 
utterly  captivating.  George,  lounging  as  near  as  he  dared, 
looked  on  with  longing  and  delight. 

"  Now  put  your  paw  right  in  the  middle  of  my  paw.  Ding- 
bats! "  cooed ^Hester  with  an  absurdly  commanding  gesture. 
''  You'll  see,  Mr.  Stillman.  he'll  do  it  in  a  minute.''  She  held 
out  her  upturned  palm,  an  invitation  to  which  Dingbats  re- 
mained monstrously  callous,  though  the  sight  sent  a  thrill 
through  the  young  man  on  the  other  side  of  him.  Hester 
crooked  a  finger  around  the  cat's  foreleg  and  lifted  his  paw 
—  against  Dingbats'  strenuous  protest  —  and  placed  it 
daintily  in  the  pink  hollow.  "  There,  you  see  he  knovrs 
what  I  want!  He's  just  stubborn  and  won't  mind.  You're 
a  naughty  old  squeeze-y  Dingbats,  sir!  "    She  hugged  him  up 


80  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

against  her  white  dress  and  neck,  looking  innocently  at 
George  over  the  black  mass  of  fur. 

''  He's  not  very  appreciative,  seems  to  me,"  said  George,  a 
trifle  huskily.  And  in  fact.  Dingbats,  struggling  himself 
free,  jumped  down,  executed  a  mighty  fore-and-aft  stretch 
with  a  yawn  to  match  and  stalked  away,  twitching  his  tail. 
Cheap  and  facile  moralists  often  affect  to  feel  something 
rebuking  about  the  honesty  of  dumb  beasts,  even  about  their 
decent  indecencies;  but  the  only  result  of  the  above  sample 
was  to  bring  from  Clara  the  comment  that  Hester  made 
such  a  pet  of  that  cat  simply  because  he  was  so  becoming 
to  her  —  just  like  a  big  black  muff. 

"  She'll  have  George  sitting  up  and  begging  next,"  added 
the  sister  with  sisterly  solicitude. 

"  Oh  well,  wouldn't  it  be  a  good  match?  " 

"  George  would  be  a  good  match  for  anybody,"  said  Clara, 
wilfully  misinterpreting  the  older  lady.  '^  Clam  Beach  is 
very  nice,  isn't  it.  Aunt  Ellen?  I've  been  meaning  to  come 
over  to  see  you,  only  somebody  told  me  the  road  was  awful 
—  ruinous  to  a  machine.  Can't  I  take  you  back  there  to- 
night, though?  " 

Mrs.  Ballard  successfully  smiled.  "  Oh,  thank  you  very 
much,  Clara,  you're  always  so  thoughtful!  But  we're  going 
back  with  Steve.  He  came  and  gathered  up  all  of  us,  the 
Burkes  and  ourselves,  in  that  big  car.  Big  as  it  is,  I  really 
don't  know  how  we  all  managed  to  pile  in,  but  we  did,  and 
were  perfectly  comfortable,  too.  Steve  and  Mary  and  little 
Miss  Burke  were  all  in  the  front  seat,  and  Jack  junior  hang- 
ing on  by  his  little  finger  somewhere!  Young  people  love 
that  helter-skelter  style,  you  know;  you  were  just  as  bad 
when  you  were  their  age.  I'm  glad  you  didn't  try  going 
to  Clam  Beach,  for  you  wouldn't  have  found  us  there.  We've 
moved  to  Thanksgiving  Cove." 

"  Thanksgiving  Cove?  " 

"  Yes  —  a  farmhouse  where  they  take  boarders,  Captain 
Eben  Howe's.  The  Burkes  are  at  Captain  Si  Howe's.  Mary 
liked  it  so  much  when  she  went  to  see  them  —  she  and 
Frances  Burke  are  old  school-friends,  you  know  — "  ex- 
plained Mrs.  Ballard  smoothly  —  "  Mary  thought  it  was  so 
nice  that  she  persuaded  me  into  trying  it.    It  is  more  inter- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  81 

esting  than  the  'Grandview';  that's  just  like  any  other 
hotel.  At  Captain  Eben's  everything  is  very  plain,  of  course 
—  no  conveniences,  but  one  doesn't  mind  somehow  —  it's  all 
very  quaint  and  typically  New  England  —  " 

''  And  Steve  Rudd  goes  over  there  all  the  time  to  see  those 
Burkes,  doesn't  he?  "  Clara  interrupted,  possibly  in  the 
benevolent  design  of  evening  the  score,  w^hich  at  the  moment 
stood  rather  in  her  aunt's  favor. 

A  faint  color  rose  in  Mrs.  Ballard's  delicately  faded  face, 
a  light  flared  briefly  in  her  fine,  dark  eyes  that  once  upon  a 
time  had  been  always  bright.  But  she  answered  with  a 
smile  charged  with  innuendo:  "  Between  ourselves,  he  comes 
over  all  the  time  to  see  one  of  those  Burkes,"  upon  which 
simple  statement,  a  singular  look  of  discomfiture  overspread 
Miss  Stillman's  countenance!  You  would  have  said  the 
other  had  cannily  cut  the  ground  from  under  her  feet,  stolen 
her  thunder,  taken  all  the  wind  out  of  her  sails.  The  con- 
versation —  to  complete  the  collection  of  metaphors  —  ap- 
peared unaccountably  without  a  leg  to  stand  on,  as  far  as  she 
was  concerned;  Mrs.  Ballard  continued  uttering  nothings  in 
her  easy  drawl,  with  her  set  smile,  until  the  two  fathers  came 
in  with  the  tonic  effect  masculine  society  generally  produces. 
Major  Burke  picked  up  a  photograph  that  was  standing  in 
its  easel  on  the  table  and  studied  it. 

"  Who  is  this?  "  he  asked. 

It  was  Edith,  in  a  riding-habit,  with  all  her  greyhound 
elegance,  erect,  straight-eyed,  like  a  young  collegian  pranked 
out  in  girls'  clothes  for  a  piece  of  mischief.  That  remorse- 
lessly truthful  engine,  the  camera,  had  extorted  no  supine 
admission  of  homeliness  from  Edith;  characteristically,  she 
had  risen  to  the  occasion.  So  that  Major  Burke  said  in  all 
sincerity:  "  What  a  striking-looking  girl!    Who  is  she?  " 

''  My  daughter,"  said  Lawson,  with  so  much  unconscious 
pride,  that  his  wife  cried  out  in  amiable  reproof. 

"  Dear  me,  Lawson,  you  say  that  as  if  she  were  the  Queen 
of  Sheba!  It's  only  our  little  girl  that  was  married  the 
other  day.  Major  Burke,  and  I  assure  you  she's  just  like 
every  other  little  girl.  I  think  men  are  ever  so  much  more 
ridiculous  over  their  children  than  women,  don't  you?  "  she 
added  confidentially  to  the  major's  wife.. 


82  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

Major  Burke  scrutinized  the  picture  a  moment  longer,  and 
laid  it  down,  looking  towards  Lawson  with  a  smile.  ''I'd  like 
to  have  her  in  my  regiment  —  if  I  had  a  regiment  just  now," 
he  said.  "  My  old  father,  who  was  a  pretty  good  judge  of 
people,  had  a  phrase  for  faces  like  that.  He  w^ould  have 
said  she  looked  as  if  she  w^ere  '  clear  grit.'  " 

"  Edith  ought  to  have  been  a  boy,"  said  her  father,  trying 
with  indifferent  success  not  to  look  as  pleased  as  he  felt. 
''  She's  very  good  at  things  boys  do  —  sports  and  all  that. 
She  can  actually  throw  straight,  with  a  good  free  motion  — 
very  unusual  for  a  woman,  you  know,"  said  Lawson,  for- 
getting his  caution,  as  he  recited  Edith's  gifts;  and  beginning 
to  fumble  in  the  inside  pocket  of  his  dinner-coat.  "  I've  got 
a  letter  from  her  here  —  she  shot  a  deer  the  other  day,  and 
wrote  to  tell  me  about  it.  They  —  the  young  people,  she  and 
her  husband  —  are  spending  the  honeymoon  in  the  Canadian 
Rockies,  hunting  and  camping.  Just  a  minute  —  I'll  find  the 
passage  —  " 

"Lawson!"  cried  Mrs.  Lawson  again,  in  pretty,  well- 
bred  admonition. 

"  Don't  stop  him!  We  ivant  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Burke. 
The  other  shrugged  resignedly.  Lawson  found  his  eyeglasses 
and  stooped  to  the  light,  scanning  and  shuffling  page  after 
page  covered  with  Edith's  bold  handwriting.  Steven  and  the 
rest  of  the  youngsters  came  in  from  the  other  room,  signal- 
ling burlesque  stealth  to  one  another  as  the  reading  began. 

*' '  We  thought  that  .  .  .'  Let's  see,  yes,  this  is  it.  .  .  . 
'  We  stalked  him  for  about  six  hours,  part  of  the  time 
crawling  on  our  hands  and  knees  through  very  thick,  scrubby 
undergrowth.  .  .  .  Had  to  go  carefully,  but  never  lost  the 
trail  once,  though  in  places  it  led  over  some  rocky,  exposed 
ground,  where  of  course  it  got  very  faint,  and  even  Pete,  who, 
the  other  guides  boast,  can  see  a  trail  in  running  water,  looked 
doubtful  for  a  minute  or  two.  .  . .'  Pete  and  the  others  seem 
to  be  half-breed  Indians,  the  kind  they  always  have  in  the 
Northwest,"  interpolated  Mr.  Rudd,  looking  up.  "  ^  Fortu- 
nately, however,  the  rain,  which  was  falling  steadily,  and  had 
been  all  night,  softened  the  ground  enough  for  him  to  make 
out  signs  of  the  buck's  passing,  besides  the  broken  twigs, 
mouthfuls  of  grass  cropped  here  and  there,  etc.    I  confess 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  83 

7  couldn't  see  a  thing  unless  the  men  pointed  it  out.  They 
find  three  dun  hairs  clinging  to  the  bole  of  a  tree,  and  some 
footprints  further  on  and  then  they  tell  you  that  the  deer 
stopped  to  rub  his  neck,  and  either  something  frightened  him, 
or  some  insect  stung  him,  for  he  jumped  over  to  the  othef 
place;  they  know  he  jumped  because  all  four  hoofs  are  there 
close  together!  And  then  I  look  and  look,  and  can't  even  find 
one  hoof-print,  let  alone  four!  .  .  .  Well,  we  came  up  with 
His  Hornlets  about  ten  o'clock.  .  .  /  It  seems  they  had 
turned  out  at  dawn  for  the  expedition,"  Lawson  sandwiched 
in  again.  "  She  says  the  thermometer  was  at  thirty- 
seven  —  " 

Steven  and  Jack  Burke  simultaneously  uttered  a  chatter- 
ing ^'  Whoosh!  "  pretending  to  shiver  convulsively,  and  blow- 
ing on  their  finger-nails. 

"  ' .  .  .  He  was  browsing  on  an  open  slope  across  a  valley 
.  .  . '  She  doesn't  say  what  the  distance  w^as.  ' .  .  .  An  easy 
shot,  or  I  probably  couldn't  have  got  him.  .  .  .'  "  And  Law- 
son  went  on  with  Edith's  tale  of  how  she  despatched  the 
buck  with  a  bullet  behind  the  shoulder,  and  how  Pete  skinned 
him  and  cut  him  up,  and  how  she  was  going  to  have  the  head 
mounted  by  a  taxidermist  in  Calgary,  and  how  finally  — 
this  she  reported  with  considerable  humor  —  one  of  the 
younger  Indians  had  assured  her  that  she  was  "  heap  good 
squaw,  worth  heap  pony,"  —  Lawson  went  on  with  all  this 
to  the  edification,  no  doubt,  of  the  entire  company.  '^  It 
was  pretty  good  for  a  girl !  "  he  said  at  the  last,  straightening 
up,  and  removing  his  pince-nez,  and  fitting  the  letter  back 
into  its  envelope. 

"  I  suppose  her  husband  lets  her  shoot  the  deer,  and  he  goes 
after  the  wild-cats  and  things,"  said  Francie. 

"  He  wasn't  along  at  all  this  time,"  said  Steven.  "  In  one 
of  her  letters,  she  said  Rudolph  —  that's  his  name  —  thought 
our  way  of  hunting  was  very  funny.  He  expected  there 
would  be  a  train  of  gun-bearers  and  people  following  along 
with  the  luncheon,  and  a  whole  lot  of  beaters  and  so  on  to 
drive  up  the  game  while  he  sat  in  some  kind  of  a  bomb- 
proof and  blazed  away !  That  would  be  European  style,  you 
know." 

Young  Burke   shouted   with   laughter;   his   father  more 


84  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

decorously,  only  permitted  himself  a  slight  grin.  As  for 
Lawson,  he  experienced  a  very  definite  annoyance  underlying 
his  own  amusement.  A  son-in-law  whom  he  must  be  forever 
explaining  and  interpreting —  ! 

"  These  foreigners,  you  know,"  he  said  a  little  awkwardly. 
"  They  naturally  don't  understand  that  we  inherit  our  man- 
ner of  hunting  from  times  when  it  was  a  necessity,  not  a 
sport  —  " 

"  Not  much  sport  though,  about  sitting  still,  perfectly  safe, 
and  having  the  game  driven  up  for  you  to  kill.  You  could  do 
that  in  the  Omaha  stock-yards,"  said  George.  '^  But  after 
all  —  "  he  added  tolerantly ;  "  you  can't  blame  Gherardi 
much  for  not  seeing  the  fun  of  getting  up  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning  and  crawling  around  in  a  freezing  rain  and  mud 
for  half  a  day." 

"  Well,  he  didn't,  in  point  of  fact,"  Steve  said. 

"  Didn't  what?  " 

"  Didn't  go.  I  told  you.  Edith  and  her  bunch  of  half- 
breeds  got  that  deer  all  on  their  own.  Didn't  she  say  Rudy 
didn't  go,  Dad?  " 

"  Why  —  er  —  yes,  I  believe  she  did,"  Lawson  assented 
reluctantly.  He  had  refrained  from  reading  that  part  of 
the  letter.  There  was  a  silence,  everyone  present  striving 
more  or  less  skilfully  not  to  betray  a  surprise  that  was 
coupled  with  some  other  feeling  not  easily  defined.  Mrs. 
Rudd  came  to  the  rescue,  trilling  off  a  laugh. 

*'  Oh,  Edith  is  so  different  —  so  independent  —  she's  eter- 
nally doing  the  weirdest  things!  "  She  turned  to  Mrs.  Burke 
vivaciously.  "  I  do  wish  you  could  have  seen  her  hunting- 
suit!  Dark  green  leather  knickerbockers  and  a  belted  jacket, 
and  of  course  leggings  and  boots  and  a  sport  hat,  all  match- 
ing. She  had  the  w^hole  thing  made  at  MacTombly  and 
Twitchell's,"  said  Mrs.  Lawson,  naming  a  shop  of  the  most 
altitudinous  prices  known  to  New  York  City,  with  a  perfect 
semblance  of  unconsciousness:  "You've  iDeen  there,  of 
course.    Don't  you  think  they  have  the  smartest  things — ?" 

*'  My  daughter's  husband.  Captain  Gherardi,  is  in  the 
German  diplomatic  service,"  said  Lawson  to  Major  Burke 
vaguely,  feeling  with  another  wave  of  resentment  that  an- 
other explanation  was  incumbent,  "  An  officer  in  their  army, 
of  course," 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  85 

*'  Ah?  They  have  different  ideas  from  ours,  as  she  says  — 
I  mean  as  you  say  —  that  is,  as  your  son  says  —  "  said  the 
other  gentleman,  rather  confused  himself,  twisting  the  white 
moustache,  nervously.  ''  I  have  met  a  good  many  of  them  — 
army-men,  of  course  —  here  and  there  in  Europe  —  very 
nice  fellows,  and  always  very  interested  in  military  affairs 
—  eager  to  know  all  about  our  army  and  methods  and  so 
on—" 

"  They've  got  such  terribly  strict  regulations,  it's  no  won- 
der they  haven't  much  idea  of  our  kind  of  sport,"  said 
Steven,  anxious  to  help  out.  "  Rudolph  told  me  their  offi- 
cers weren't  allowed  to  go  in  for  any  kind  of  athletics,  polo 
or  tennis  or  anything.  He  said  some  of  them  were  poor  and 
couldn't  afford  it,  so  they  had  an  iron-clad  rule  to  keep  them 
all  as  much  as  possible  on  an  equal  footing." 

After  a  pause,  during  which  an  appreciation  of  the  lofty 
nature  of  German  army  discipline  might  be  supposed,  as  it 
were,  to  sink  into  everybody's  intelligence,  Jack  Burke  said, 
not  too  admiringly:  "  They  haven't  got  any  regulations  like 
that  in  our  army,  have  they.  Dad?  " 

"  Well,  no.  It  —  it  hardly  seems  as  if  it  should  be 
needed,"  said  Major  Burke,  twisting  his  moustache  again, 
with  a  thoughtful  expression. 

The  party  broke  up  not  long  after,  and  Steve  conveyed 
his  friends  home,  according  to  the  programme.  He  had 
gotten  fairly  well  acquainted  w^ith  the  vagaries  of  the  road 
by  now,  and  moreover  had  discovered  what  he  called  a  long 
cut,  a  detour  which  added  five  miles  or  so  but  avoided  the 
difficulties  of  his  first  trip.  George  Stillman,  who,  it  turned 
out,  had  not  known  beforehand  that  his  aunt  and  cousin 
were  invited,  came  and  asked,  and  indeed  urged  them 
warmly  to  be  his  passengers;  the  young  fellow  was  fond  of 
Mrs.  Ballard  and  not  so  careless  or  so  occupied  in  mooning 
after  Miss  Hester  Rudd  that  he  could  not  guess  when  his 
sister  Clara  had  "  turned  rusty,"  as  he  graphically  described 
certain  of  the  lady's  moods. 

^'  I  had  no  idea  you  were  going  to  be  here  —  Clara  never 
told  me,  I  suppose  she  thought  I  knew  —  or  I'd  have  sent 
over  for  you,"  he  said  earnestly;  "  come  on  now,  Aunt  Ellen, 
you  and  Mary !  Steve's  got  as  many  as  he  can  take  already." 


86  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  You  shut  up!  "  said  the  latter  gentleman  peremptorily. 
"  Don't  you  listen  to  him,  Mrs.  Ballard!  You're  both  com- 
ing with  us,  that's  all  there  is  to  it!  "  So  George  had  to 
withdraw  at  length. 

"  I  can  help  you  in  anyhow,  if  I  can't  do  anything  else. 
Aunt  Ellen,"  said  he,  and  proceeded  to  do  so  gallantly,  w^hile 
Steven,  sitting  at  the  wheel,  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"That's  right,  Georgie!  Be  careful  now!  See  that  she 
puts  her  paw  right  in  the  middle  of  your  paw !  "  he  advised 
maliciously.  A  premonitory  outburst  from  the  engine 
mercifully  smothered  the  other  young  man's  startled 
"  Wh  —  what!  "  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  none  of  the  rest  heard, 
or  gathered  the  import  of  this  bit  of  by-play. 

Perhaps  Mary  had,  however,  to  judge  from  a  remark  she 
made  to  her  mother  just  before  they  went  to  bed.  "  There's 
going  to  be  another  wedding  in  the  Rudd  family  before  long, 
I'm  thinking,"  said  the  girl.  '^  Didn't  you  notice?  This 
evening?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Ballard,  lifelessly.  She  was  sitting  in 
front  of  the  little  pine  bureau,  brushing  out  her  hair  for  the 
night;  the  bureau,  in  addition  to  its  regular  functions,  per- 
formed those  of  a  desk,  a  washstand,  and  a  work-table, 
though  somewhat  cramped  in  size  for  any  single  one  of  those 
articles  of  furniture.  On  its  narrow  top  there  were  assembled, 
besides  a  pitcher  and  basin,  the  hairdressing  and  manicur- 
ing equipment  of  both  ladies,  a  bottle  of  ink  with  pens  and 
paper,  their  last  two  laundry-bills,  the  shoe-polish,  the  tal- 
cum, the  cold-cream,  a  cluster  of  artificial  violets  from  a  hat 
that  they  had  been  trying  to  re-trim,  a  glass  hand-lamp,  a 
pair  of  scissors,  needles  and  thread,  and  a  morsel  of  pilot- 
biscuit.  Two  wooden  chairs,  a  bed  with  a  mattress  wherein, 
Mary  said,  all  the  doorknobs  in  New  England  had  congre- 
gated and  were  holding  Forefathers'  Day  exercises,  and  a 
strip  of  worn  ingrain  carpeting  gritty  w^ith  beach  sand  and 
perpetually  damp,  completed  the  furnishings  of  their  room 
at  Cap'n  Eben's  where,  to  be  sure,  the  guests  expected  and 
professed  to  relish  a  Spartan  absence  of  comfort.  Mrs.  Bal- 
lard, whose  chameleon  endowment  enabled  her  to  rough  it 
with  a  better  grace  than  anybody  else  wherever  roughing  it 
happened  to  be  the  prevailing  mode,  nevertheless  eyed  the 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  87 

litter  before  her  with  a  kind  of  passive  disgust;  she  was 
naturally  dainty,  ordered,  exquisite.  She  kept  up  a  mechan- 
ical brushing  of  her  thick,  slightly  silvered  hair  through 
which  there  ran  the  beautiful  ripple  that  Mary's  had  in- 
herited, while  she  stared  into  the  glass  at  a  face  that  seemed 
to  have  taken  on  years  of  age  in  the  few  minutes  since  she 
brightly  said  good-night  to  the  Burkes,  at  the  other  Cap'n 
Howe's  door. 

^'  I  remembered  not  to  say  anything  about  that  other  Mr. 
Rudd,"  said  Mary. 

Mrs.  Ballard  started.    "  Eh?    Oh,  yes.    That  was  right." 

"  But  Steven  must  know  he's  staying  here.  Mother.  It 
seems  silly  to  be  so  close-mouthed  —  " 

"  Wait  until  Steven  or  some  one  of  the  family  mentions 
him  first,"  counselled  the  older  woman.  She  picked  up  the 
violets  and  fingered  them;  and  perhaps  they  acted  as  a  re- 
minder, for  when  she  spoke  again,  it  was  to  change  the  sub- 
ject abruptly.  "  I'm  afraid  you  won't  get  any  '  hand-me- 
downs  '  as  you  call  them,  from  Clara  this  fall,  Mary.  It's 
my  fault.  I  made  her  furious  this  evening.  I  really  couldn't 
help  it;  she  was  intolerable.    I'm  sorry  —  " 

''  Oh,  stuff!  I'm  glad  you  did,"  Mary  cried  out  buoyantly. 
^'  I'm  glad  you  got  even  with  her.  I  never  can;  I'm  not 
quick  enough  to  think  of  those  sharp,  little  needle-y  things 
you  say,  right  at  the  time;  they  always  come  into  my  head 
about  half  an  hour  afterwards,  and  then  I  think  I'll  save 
them  up  for  the  next  time,  and  somehow  there  never  is  any 
next  time  —  I  never  have  the  chance  again!  But  you're 
always  ready.  Never  mind  the  old  clothes,  Mother.  It 
w^ould  probably  have  been  the  same  even  if  you  hadn't  said 
a  word  to  her;  she  was  in  a  black  bad  temper  the  whole 
evening  because  the  men  weren't  paying  her  any  attention. 
Never  mind  the  clothes  —  " 

^'  Well,  but  I  don't  see  how  you  can  get  along  —  " 

"  Maybe  Uncle  John  will  come  across,"  Mary  suggested, 
profanely,  hopefully,  after  the  fashion  of  youth. 

''  He  will  if  he  thinks  of  it  —  he's  very  kind.  But  it  doesn't 
do  to  count  on  anything.  I've  learned  that,"  said  her 
mother,  in  the  same  jaded  voice. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

STEVEN  had,  of  course,  realized  at  the  outset  that 
it  would  be  impossible  to  avoid  meeting  again  that 
not  altogether  impossible  person,  Eugene  Rudd,  as 
long  as  the  latter  abode  at  Thanksgiving  Cove,  rambling 
the  countryside,  fishing  or  sketching;  or  anon  shutting  him- 
self up  for  a  space  in  his  room  at  Cap'n  Eben  Howe's,  whence 
there  would  issue  the  sound  of  his  typewriter  clicking  stead- 
ily. That  these  were  his  occupations,  together  with  one  or 
two  other  small  facts  about  him,  young  Burke  divulged 
innocently  enough,  the  very  first  time  he  saw  his  friend. 
'^  Oh,  by  the  way,  funny  coincidence,  there's  a  man  named 
Rudd  staying  at  the  other  Cap'n  Howe's  where  your  friends 
the  Ballards  are  —  and  here  I  thought  there  was  only  one 
Rudd  family  in  existence!  "  said  Jack;  "  I  remember  your 
telling  me  once  that  you  were  the  only  Rudds  in  the  tele- 
phone-book at  home,  so  that  I  wouldn't  have  the  least 
trouble  finding  you,  even  if  I  forgot  the  address.  This  Rudd 
seems  to  be  a  kind  of  a  quiet  fellow ;  keeps  to  himself  most 
of  the  time,  though  he's  very  nice  when  you  meet  him.  I 
think  he's  literary  or  artistic  or  something — "  And  here 
Jack  outlined  the  other  Rudd's  activities  as  above.  "  He  was 
here  when  we  came,  and  we  saw  him  every  now  and  then  at 
meal-times,  or  out  somewhere,  but  it's  only  recently  that 
we've  begun  to  speak.  He  looks  rather  interesting  —  only 
you  can  see  that  he  —  "  the  young  fellow  went  through  an 
expressive  pantomime,  with  a  look  of  vast  shrewdness. 
''  Pretty  frequently,  I  should  judge.  Early  and  often!  They 
can  get  it  almost  anywhere  around  here,  you  know.  Prohi- 
bition's a  grand  success  in  this  State!  "  And  misinterpret- 
ing Steve's  expression  as  the  latter  began  to  speak,  Jack 
interrupted  him  in  the  same  knowing  and  cocksure  style. 
"  Why,  yes!  Didn't  you  know  it?  Any  time  you  feel  dry, 
all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  amble  out  to  one  of  these  rattletrap 

88 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  89 

old  abandoned  farms,  and  carelessly  drop  your  flask  with  a 
quarter  of  a  dollar  or  some  such  matter  alongside  it  on  top 
of  a  rock  or  a  stump  near  the  old  buildings,  and  gently  fade 
off  into  some  bosky  dell,  whistling  '  Little  Brown  Jug,'  or 
some  other  Sunday-School  tune.  Then  presently  after 
you've  cruised  around  awhile,  you  all  at  once  recollect  your 
flask!  You  hasten  back — and  you  find  it.  That's  all. 
Nothing's  happened.  You  haven't  seen  anybody,  or  heard 
anybody,  much  less  talked  to  anybody!  No  one  has  sold 
you  anything,  no  law  has  been  broken.  This  Rudd  gent 
goes  —  " 

"  Hold  up!  "  said  Steve.  "  He's  a  relative  of  mine."  It 
seemed  so  necessary  to  announce  the  fact,  that  it  all  at  once 
became  perfectly  easy  and  simple,  and  Steven  wondered 
inwardly  why  he  had  not  done  it  sooner,  what  he  had  been 
boggling  over.  '^  I  started  to  tell  you  just  now,  but  you 
didn't  give  me  a  chance,"  he  said.  "  It's  all  right,  anyhow, 
Jack." 

"  Well,  I  can't  take  any  of  it  back  —  only  I'm  sorry  if  I 
w^as  too  personal,"  said  the  other,  regretful  but  unswerving. 
"  I  suppose  I  might  have  guessed  —  or  I  ought  to  have  found 
out  before  I  did  too  much  talking.  It  never  occurred  to  me, 
somehow!  " 

"  He's  a  half-brother  of  my  father's." 

"  As  near  as  that?  " 

"  Yes.  But  he's  lived  east  nearly  all  his  life,  he  hasn't 
been  home  for  years.  We  children  —  that  is,  I  —  I  just 
barely  know  him.  It  happens  that  way  in  families  some- 
times, you  know,  especially  in  big  families  like  ours,"  Steve 
explained;  and  whatever  his  friend  thought,  he  said  nothing 
more.  Steve  found  himself  increasingly  relieved  that  he  had 
come  out  plainly  and  acknowledged  the  connection;  he  had 
an  intuition  that  Eugene,  on  his  side,  would  never  so  much 
as  hint  at  it. 

A  few^  days  later,  the  expected,  for  once  happened.  That 
is,  driving  over  to  the  Cove  with  an  outfit  of  net  and  stakes 
and  odd  rackets  picked  up  around  the  house,  for  the  make- 
shift tennis-court  which  the  young  people  proposed  to  set 
up  on  a  level  spot  —  one  of  the  few  thereabouts  —  which 
they  had  discovered  and  pre-empted,  he  found  the  other 


90  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

Rudd  with  Francie  at  a  table  in  the  summer-house,  both  of 
them  up  to  their  knees  in  General  Burke's  memoirs,  en- 
grossed in  making  notes,  copying  or  comparing  passages, 
docketing  this,  laying  aside  that.  Eugene  looked  up,  and 
then  got  up  and  shook  hands,  saying:  "  Oh,  Steven!  "  and 
Steve  himself  said:  "  Oh  —  er  — hello!  "  and  the  momen- 
tous occasion  was  all  over !  From  that  moment  he  magically 
ceased  to  feel  the  slightest  embarrassment  about  Eugene 
Rudd  or  his  company. 

''  He's  helping  me,"  Frances  said.  "  Everything  was  in 
such  a  muddle,  and  I  went  at  it  without  any  system.  It's  a 
little  hard,  anyway,  all  by  oneself." 

''I've  done  a  great  deal  of  this  sort  of  work,  as  it  hap- 
pens," said  Eugene.  "  And  she  lets  me  smoke."  In  fact  he 
had  his  short  black  pipe,  a  villainous-smelling  utensil, 
though  probably  not  much  worse  than  Major  Burke's  or 
Jack's  to  which  Francie  was  pretty  well  inured;  and  in 
other  respects,  as  Steve  noted,  he  had  doubtless,  in  honor  of 
the  young  lady,  assumed  a  much  more  formal  toilette  than 
that  of  their  first  meeting,  to  wit,  a  shabby  business  suit  and 
a  neglige  shirt  with  the  fringe  imperfectly  pared  from  the 
euffs  —  but  it  was  clean.  Eugene  himself  was  meticulously 
clean,  and  there  was  something  in  the  movement  of  his  lean 
browned  hands  as  they  went  competently  through  the  masses 
of  papers  that  reminded  the  young  man  bafRingly  of  his 
father.  "  All  in  this  batch  are  of  no  importance.  Miss 
Burke,"  said  Eugene  authoritatively,  with  the  pipe  in  the 
corner  of  his  mouth,  jotting  down  a  memorandum  on  the 
outside  of  the  packet.  "  Now  I've  sifted  out  all  of  J.  Varda- 
man's  letters  and  got  them  arranged  in  chronological  order, 
tandem,  at  length,  seriatim,  in  sequence,  —  one  after  another 
—  the  last  thing  I  worked  on  was  a  thesaurus  —  the  scent 
of  it  clings  'round  me  still !  J.  Vardaman  deserves  consider- 
ation. Better  put  his  letters  with  his  journal."  And  with 
some  further  practical  recommendations,  he  presently  took 
himself  off,  leaving  the  young  people  to  themselves,  yet  not 
too  pointedly. 

Indeed,  as  the  days  went  on  and  the  little  colony  of 
Steve's  friends  at  the  Cove  saw  more  and  more  of  this  other 
Rudd,  it  developed  that  he  had  a  knack  of  never  being  in  the 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  91 

way,  of  not  outstaying  a  welcome,  and  of  making  himself 
useful  without  being  officious;  they  all  liked  him.  The 
men,  and  perhaps  some  of  the  women  were  quite  aware  of 
his  weakness,  but  —  ''  He  never  shows  up  except  when  he's 
sober,  anyhow.  As  long  as  he  sticks  to  that,  there's  no  harm 
done,"  Steven  decided.  He  himself  felt  that  their  acquaint- 
ance had  reached  a  stage  where  he  could  say  to  the  older 
man,  a  little  lamely,  it  is  true,  but  without  fear  of  being 
either  foolish  or  offensive:  "  If  you  don't  mind,  I  wish  you'd 
tell  me  what  I'm  to  call  you.  I  can't  keep  on  you-ing  you 
forever.  It's  ridiculous,  but  —  I  don't  know  —  there  doesn't 
seem  to  be  any —  " 

He  did  not  need  to  go  any  farther,  for  a  look  of  compre- 
hension, at  once  amused  and  concerned,  had  alreadv  ap- 
peared on  the  other's  face.  ''Vihy,  of  course!  I  ought  to  have 
thought  of  that!  "  ejaculated  Eugene.  "You  couldn't  call 
me  —  "  He  halted  with  an  involuntary  smile,  so  that  Steven 
guessed  he  was  passing  in  review  the  grotesque  alternatives 
that  had  occurred  to  himself.  "  Better  just  say  '  Eugene,' 
hadn't  you?  "  he  suggested  finally. 

So  ''Eugene"  it  became;  and  it  seemed  to  Steven  that 
this  black  sheep  had  handled  the  question  with  a  humane 
tact  that  was  characteristic  of  him.  Taken  with  other 
amiable  characteristics,  it  justified  the  young  man's  liking, 
which  had  at  first  somehow  savored  of  disloyalty  to  his 
father,  or  to  some  rather  vague  entity,  the  family  or  the 
firm  of  Rudd,  which  had  cast  out  Eugene,  doubtless  for 
good  and  sufficient  reason.  Steve  sometimes  wondered 
what  the  exact  circumstances  of  the  casting-out  had  been; 
if  there  had  been  hard  words,  a  scene.  At  any  rate,  he  said 
to  himself,  they  had  all  behaved  like  gentlemen  since  —  no 
backbiting,  no  public  laundering  of  soiled  linen  in  the  courts 
or  out,  a  decent  and  self-respecting  reticence  on  each  side, 
an  especial  care  not  to  prejudice  the  youngsters  of  his  own 
generation;  not  from  his  father,  not  from  his  Uncle  Elihu, 
had  Steve  learned  that  their  half-brother  was  a  drunken 
scalawag;  and  had  Eugene  possessed  an  equally  damaging 
secret  about  the  other  two,  Steven  believed  he  would  have 
been  equally  scrupulous. 

"  Let's  see  now,  jest  what  kin  air  you  and  this  here  young 


92  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

feller?  "  Cap'n  Eben,  who  had  a  Yankee  thirst  for  informa- 
tion, asked  them  one  day;  he  meditatively  moved  a  small 
light-blue  eye,  exhibiting  true  sailor-like  keenness  of  vision, 
from  one  to  the  other.  "  You  air  Mr.  Rudd's  son  over  to 
the  Harbor  —  the  one  that's  got  the  big  place  near  there  — 
you're  his  boy,  ain't  ye?  "  he  said,  fixing  on  Steven.  "  Ye 
don't  favor  your  pa  as  much  as  him,  though."  Here  the 
captain  jerked  his  head  towards  Eugene.  "  How  close  kin 
air  ye,  if  it's  a  fair  question?  " 

Steven  hesitated,  taken  aback;  but  before  the  pause 
could  assume  a  significance,  Eugene  answered,  with  a  kind 
of  mock  gravity  which  disposed  of  the  matter  in  the  best 
possible  fashion:  "  Cap'n  Howe,  you'll  have  to  figure  it  out 
for  yourself,  it  oughtn't  to  be  any  trick  at  all  for  a  man  that 
can  take  a  ship's  position.    His  grandfather  was  my  father." 

"  Hey?  "  said  the  captain  nasally. 

''  His  grandfather  was  my  father.  The  old  gentleman  was 
left  a  widower  rather  late  in  life,  when  the  children  were  all 
grown  up.  He  married  a  second  time.  Hope  triumphs  over 
experience!  "  said  Eugene,  airily  sententious;  and  that  made 
the  ex-seaman  (who  was  a  widower  himself)  laugh. 

''  Well,  they  do  say  there's  no  fool  like  an  old  fool,"  he 
remarked  —  whereat  Eugene,  after  a  moment,  laughed 
heartily  too.  Captain  Howe  left  them,  his  curiosity  fully 
satisfied.    They  sat  for  a  while  in  silence. 

"  I  didn't  know  what  to  say,"  Steve  confessed  at  length. 

*'  It  was  awkward." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  the  only  thing  to  do  was  what  you  did. 
Family  history  —  explanations  —  one  doesn't  want  to  go 
into  all  that  with  strangers,  but  —  "  the  younger  man  blurted 
out.    ''  This  time  it  —  it  —  " 

''  It  couldn't  be  helped,"  said  Eugene.  "  Quite  so.  After 
all,  it's  not  of  so  much  importance  to  the  rest  of  the  world 
as  we  think.  Maybe  you're  inclined  to  take  it  too  seriously," 
he  added  kindly.  And  after  another  silence:  ''  I  remember 
how  my  poor  mother  used  to  worry  over  things  that  in  the 
long  run  didn't  matter  —  or  couldn't  be  helped,  anyhow  —  " 
he  said,  puffing  at  his  pipe,  staring  straight  ahead  absently. 
''  She  taught  me,  with  Heaven  knows  what  pains,  to  say 
'  Brother  Elihu,'  '  Brother  Lawson  '  "  —  Eugene  reiterated 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  93 

the  forms  of  address  with  a  grimace  of  wry  mirth ;  "  '  Brother 
Lawson,'  'Brother  Elihu'!  You  may  imagine  how  much 
they  relished  it.  She  meant  well.  She  just  didn't  know. 
She  was  like  any  other  woman,  incapable  of  letting  well 
enough  or  ill  enough  alone.  Always  trying  to  tinker  up  the 
hopeless  situation.  She  never  understood  why  '  Brother 
Lawson  '  "  —  he  grimaced  again  —  "  '  Brother  Lawson ' 
didn't  like  me  —  " 

Steven  made  some  inarticulate  sound  of  protest,  but  the 
other  overrode  it,  shaking  his  head  with  a  philosophical 
smile.  "  Why,  your  father  couldn't  like  me,  Steven,"  he 
said  reasonably.  "  Put  it  to  yourself!  As  soon  as  I  got  to 
be  old  enough,  /  understood.  Well  —  !  "  He  raised  one 
shoulder,  shrugging  the  whole  unhappy  history  away.  "  Are 
you  in  the  office?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

Steven  laughed.  "  Yes.  This  summer  I  was  supposed  to 
be  in  charge!  However,  I'm  not  under  any  illusions  about 
my  usefulness.    I'm  just  learning." 

"  But  you  like  it?  "  pursued  the  other,  eyeing  him. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  don't  know  that  I've  got  a  great  turn  for  it, 
like  father.  Everybody  says  he  was  a  wonder.  But 
I  like  it.  Anyway  there  has  to  be  a  Rudd  in  the 
business,  you  know,"  said  the  young  man,  reciting  the 
doctrine  in  which  he  had  been  brought  up,  which  so  far 
he  had  not  dreamed  of  doubting  or  denying;  on  the  contrary 
he  was  not  a  little  proud  of  the  inheritance,  and  ambitious 
to  make  a  good  showing  under  responsibility. 

After  this  he  rather  expected  further  intimacies  from 
Eugene,  and  was  not  quite  sure  whether  he  cared  about 
them ;  but,  as  it  turned  out,  Master  Steven  might  have  spared 
his  anxiety.  The  next  time  they  met  he  found  himself  on 
the  same  agreeably  impersonal  footing  with  the  outlawed 
Rudd  as  before  —  the  same  footing  that  Eugene  maintained 
w4th  everybody.  Once  or  twice  he  went  fishing  with  them; 
and  once  or  twice  he  had  Jack  and  Steve  up  in  his  room. 
It  was  a  bare  little  room  up  the  attic  stairs  under  the  roof, 
with  a  cot-bed,  a  handglass  hanging  to  a  nail  with  a  shelf 
underneath  it  by  way  of  dressing-table,  and  Eugene's  manu- 
scripts and  proof-sheets  heaped  on  the  floor  in  a  corner 
pjongside  his  broken  old  valise.     He  was  compiling  some 


94  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

sort  of  text-book,  hack-work  for  a  New  York  publishing- 
house,  the  kind  at  which  apparently  he  made  his  living ;  the 
young  men  speculated  as  to  how  much  he  was  paid.  Not  a 
princely  sum,  as  was  very  evident;  Lawson  Rudd's  butler 
would  probably  have  disdained  it;  yet  such  is  the  glamour 
enveloping  the  trade  of  letters  that  both  of  them  secretly 
envied  this  humble  practitioner. 

"  Mr.  Cook  said  he  did  very  good  work,"  Steven  told 
Mary.  "  I  daresay  there're  dozens  and  dozens  of  them  that 
'  do  good  work,'  though,  and  barely  get  along  on  it.  We  had 
fellows  in  my  class  that  we  all  thought  were  world-beaters 
at  writing  —  and  they  thought  so  themselves.  They  were  all 
going  into  literary  work  when  they  got  through  college, 
and  we  fully  expected  one  or  another  of  them  would  make 
the  Nobel  Prize  in  a  year  or  so !  Well,  out  of  all  those  men, 
how  many  do  you  think  have  made  good?  Just  one,  and  he 
hasn't  taken  down  any  prizes  yet.  He's  a  reporter  on  a 
new^spaper,  and  he  has  to  work  his  head  off  to  hold  the  job, 
at  that!  " 

"  I  thought  you  used  to  write,"  Mary  said. 

"  Oh,  I  had  the  bug  for  a  while  like  all  the  rest.  Every- 
body is  pretty  sure  to  think  he  can  write;  it  looks  like  such 
a  cinch,"  said  Steven,  laughing  though  he  colored.  "  That 
year  I  was  travelling  around  on  the  other  side  I  had  a  good 
deal  of  time  and  I  thought  I'd  try  it  —  see  if  I  couldn't  sell 
something,  you  know.    Nothing  doing!  " 

''  Oh,  you  couldn't  have  kept  on  long  enough.  They  say 
everybody  always  has  a  terribly  hard  time  getting  started, 
before  they  make  a  reputation." 

"  Yes  —  but  I  don't  believe  it's  ever  easy,  reputation  or  no 
reputation,"  Steve  opined  sagely.  "  I  showed  some  of  the 
things  to  Eugene.  He  didn't  say  much.  I  suppose  he  didn't 
like  to  discourage  me,  and  couldn't  reconcile  it  with  his 
conscience  to  encourage  me,  so  he  just  temporized.  Praised 
it  wdth  faint  damns,  as  you  might  say." 

"  Well,  there 're  lots  of  things  you  can  do  besides  writing. 
I  wish  I  could  do  something,"  said  Mary  dispiritedly.  "  I 
can't  do  anything.    Anything  worth  while,  that  is." 

They  were  sitting  on  the  end  of  Luther  Rodman's  pier, 
where  the  Boothbay  excursion-boats  stopped  Mondays  and 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  95 

Thursdays,  waiting  for  the  moon  to  rise.     Behind  them 
loomed  Luther  Rodman's  warehouse,  buttressed  witli  barrels 
of  a   famous  oil   company's  product  —  those   blue   barrels 
familiar  to  the  view  at  every  port  of  call  the  world  over; 
the  aroma  of  them,  mingled  with  those  of  tar  and  fish  and 
salt  water  and  ham  frying  for  somebody's  late  supper  hung 
all  around;  below  them  boats  lolled  on  the  incoming  tide; 
to  right  and  left  there  was  a  long  curve  of  broken  and  rocky 
shore;  and  at  the  rim  of  the  horizon  the  light  on  Saddler's 
Shoal  went  and  returned  in  ordered  revolutions.    Mary  had 
a  lame  chair  backed  against  a  post,  her  feet  propped  on  a 
coil  of  rope;  and  Steve  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  platform,  one 
leg  swinging  over  the  void,  his  arms  hugging  the  other  knee. 
It  was  a  sufficiently  romantic  hour,  but  the  young  people, 
contrary  to  precedent,  had  not  drifted  into  any  sort  of  senti- 
mentalities; for  that  matter  the  fashions,  even  in  lovers' 
talk,  have  radically  altered  of  recent  years,  and  sweet  noth- 
ings, we  understand,  are  now  completely  out  of  date!     If 
Steven's  thoughts  had  wandered  into  such  personalities  as 
that  Mary  Ballard's  feet  were  the  smallest  he  ever  saw 
and  that  they  looked  very  cute  in  her  well-worn  canvas 
sneakers  perched  beside  each  other  on  the  rope  like  a  pair 
of  ragged  little  birds  —  if  the  young  gentleman  had  been 
occupied  with  this  and  other  discoveries,  he  kept  them  to 
himself,  in  the  belief  that  Mary,  in  common  with  all  the 
girls  whom  he  really  liked,  did  not  care  for  that  style  of  talk. 
Besides,  of  late  he  had  noticed  a  restlessness,  a  kind  of  ab- 
sent constraint  in  her  manner  suggesting  that  she  had  some- 
thing on  her  mind  —  something  that  left  no  room  for  soft 
speeches.    Steve  guessed  what  it  was  with  a  wrench  of  pity, 
a  purely  masculine  desire  to  protect,  to  be  of  service.    It  was 
money   that   was   worrying   her  —  or   rather   the    lack   of 
money,  he  thought,  painfully  conscious  of  his  own  helpless- 
ness.   He  could  do  nothing;  he  must  not  even  seem  to  sus- 
pect what  was  the  matter.     Once  he  actually  thought  of 
going  to  George  Stillman  and  putting  a  vrord  in  his  ear; 
but  Steve's  saner  judgment  recoiled  from  that  piece  of  benev- 
olent meddling.    It  was  no  business  of  his  to  tell  George  to 
take  care  of  his  own  aunt,  his  own  cousin  —  no,  not  even 
when  all  signs  pointed  to  George  as  an  imminent  brother-in- 


96  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

law.  Steven  saw  the  two  women  bound  hand  and  foot  by 
conventions,  absolutely  without  recourse.  A  man  might  go 
and  pawn  his  watch,  he  might  borrow  of  another  man,  he 
might  even  stand  off  the  landlord  and  the  laundry-bill, 
Steve  said  to  himself  seriously  enough,  but  these  were 
women,  ladies,  his  own  class.  And,  for  the  thousandth  time, 
it  was  a  shame!  The  troubled  note  in  the  girl's  last  words 
gave  him  another  twinge. 

"  Oh,  you  could  do  anything  you  tried!  "  he  said  warmly. 

^'  No.  Nowadays  you  have  to  know  how  —  you  have  to 
be  trained  in  some  specialty,  or  you  can't  get  anywhere. 
You  can't  just  take  things  up.  They  want  people  with  col- 
lege-degrees for  everything  —  and  I've  never  been  to  school 
in  one  place  long  enough  to  get  an  education,  let  alone  de- 
grees and  things!  Look  at  Francie  Burke,  how  hard  she 
works,  and  she's  clever!  I  never  could  do  anything  like  that, 
not  if  I  tried  forever,"  said  Mary  wistfully;  "  I'm  not  bright 
enough.  Mother  could  —  or  she  could  have  when  she  was 
my  age.  Mother  could  learn  anything.  Those  books  on 
architecture  and  all  that  sort  of  artistic  stuff  that  Francie  has 
to  study,  why.  Mother  likes  to  pick  them  up  and  read  them, 
just  as  if  they  were  novels!  "  said  Mary  with  a  rather  touch- 
ing pride  and  wonder.  "  I  can't  get  interested  in  them.  I 
haven't  got  enough  sense." 

Steven  found  himself  welling  over  with  a  compassion 
which  he  dared  not  show;  and  otherwise  without  a  word  to 
answer  this  na'ive  self-arraignment,  whether  in  sympathy  or 
rebuttal.  In  the  end  he  was  reduced  to  retorting  violently: 
"  Oh,  stuff!  "  and,  strange  to  say,  the  wisdom  of  Solomon 
could  have  achieved  no  utterance  more  comforting.  Mary 
swallowed  hard,  and  changed  the  subject. 

"  I  like  the  Burkes  awfully  well,  Steve." 

''  Yes,  I  thought  you  would.  Jack  was  my  friend,  to  begin 
with ;  I  didn't  know  the  others  at  all,  but  one  could  tell  by 
him  what  they  would  be  like." 

"  They're  so  straight-out  and  —  and  sincere,  I  suppose  I 
mean,"  said  Mary,  knotting  her  brows  with  the  effort  to  find 
the  right  word.  ''  They  seem  to  be  just  themselves.  I  don't 
believe  they  ever  think  of  doing  anything  just  because  other 
people  do  it.    Mother  says  people  who  make  a  point  of  being 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  97 

different  from  everybody  else,  generally  contrive  to  be 
simply  rude.  She  says  it's  almost  always  just  a  cheap  trick 
to  get  yourself  talked  about." 

"  Well,  the  Burkes  aren't  crazy  to  be  talked  about,  I  know 
that,"  Steve  interposed  vigorously.  "  Imagine  Major  Burke 
doing  anything  for  effect!    You  can't.    You  simply  can't!  " 

"  Oh  no !  But  people  do,  you  know,  Steve.  I  met  a  woman 
in  New  York  last  winter  that  everybody  said  had  a  press- 
agent.  She  was  one  of  the  rich-overnight  kind  —  loads  of 
money,  and  perfectly  determined  to  get  in,  you  know.  They 
said  she  was  spending  a  fortune,  giving  perfectly  huge 
amounts  to  charities,  and  having  photographs  of  herself  and 
her  town-house  and  her  country-house,  and  her  prize  Boston 
bull  and  all  that  sort  of  stuff  constantly  in  the  smart  mag- 
azines, and  notices  of  every  step  she  took,  and  everything 
she  did  —  the  same  way  they  boom  actresses.  And  she  was 
getting  in,  too!  Everybody  laughed  at  her,  but  they  were 
beginning  to  recognize  her  and  invite  her  and  accept  her 
invitations,  just  the  same.  Mother  said  she  had  managed 
w^onderfully  well  —  all  except  the  charities.  The  climbers  al- 
most invariably  overdo  that  part,  she  says.  Mother  has 
seen  a  lot,"  Mary  ended  pensively. 

"  A  person  does,  of  course,  that's  been  going  around  in 
society  as  long  as  she  has.  But,  Mary,  /  don't  think  it's  so 
rotten,  after  all,"  the  young  man  argued.  "  Most  people 
just  want  to  have  a  good  time,  and  I  suppose  their  idea  of  a 
good  time  is  like  that  woman's.  If  it  makes  her  happy  to 
be  prominent  socially,  why,  there's  no  harm  in  it." 

*'  Yes,  but  she  isn't  happy.  She's  worried  to  a  frazzle  the 
whole  time  for  fear  she  can't  stay  in,''  said  Mary  with  con- 
siderable acuteness.  "  And  Mother  says  those  people  are  in 
daily  and  hourly  terror  of  some  unpresentable  relative  turn- 
ing up,  or  some  friend  who  used  to  know  them  when  they 
didn't  have  anything.  Anyhow  I'm  not  talking  about  society 
being  rotten,  Steve,  I'm  just  saying  I'd  like  people  to  stop 
pretending.  I'd  like  everybody  to  do  what  he  liked  because 
he  liked  it,  and  not  because  everybody  else  did  it.  I'd  like 
to  be  real  myself.  I  feel  all  the  time  as  if  I  were  two  girls, 
the  one  that  everybody  else  knows,  and  the  one  I  know.  I 
don't  believe  Francie  Burke  ever  felt  that  way  about  her- 
self for  one  minute." 


98  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  You'd  find  she  has,  if  you  asked  her.    Nobody  is  the 
same  on  top  that  he  is  underneath,"  said  Steven. 

They  talked  on  for  a  while  in  this  grave,  analytical  strain, 
quite  forgetting  the  moon  which  had  been  up  for  an  hour 
before  Mary  —  very  likely  with  the  whispered  opinions  of 
"  everybody  "  formidably  menacing  her  —  announced,  jump- 
ing up,  that  it  was  time  to  go  in.  Even  then,  according  to 
Steve,  there  was  no  need  of  hurry,  so  they  loitered  along  the 
shore  road,  though  the  night  was  growing  cold,  still  trying  to 
settle  the  riddle  of  human  character  in  its  relation  to  human 
behavior,  with  the  preposterous  and  touching  certainty  of 
youth  that  there  must  be  some  solution,  some  explanation  of 
the  monstrous  inconsistencies  did  they  but  search  long 
enough  and  earnestly  enough.  Undoubtedly  most  of  the 
time  they  were  repeating  catch-words  and  catch-phrases; 
but  they  thought  they  were  thinking.  In  fact,  Mary  had 
just  divulged  the  weighty  and  novel  information  that  there 
were  moments  when  her  mind  seemed  to  work  and  move  like 
a  muscle,  now  stiff  and  slow,  now  with  unexampled  ease, 
speed  and  accuracy;  and  Steven  was  quoting  as  nearly  as  he 
could  recollect  it,  a  passage  from  one  of  his  professors  at 
college  to  the  effect  that  it  made  scarcely  any  difference  how 
much  or  how  little  mind  you  had,  provided  you  always  kept 
it  ''on  the  job"  —  they  had  just  reached  this  interesting 
point  when,  turning  an  elbow  of  granite  cliff  where  the  path 
dropped  abruptly  almost  to  the  water's  edge,  they  saw  a  man 
sprawled  out  amongst  the  rocks  and  sea-weed  and  drift- 
wood farther  out,  fast  asleep  —  or  insensible  from  a  fall  per- 
haps, as  they  both  conjectured  the  next  minute,  in  some 
alarm.  It  was  no  place  for  a  nap,  and  besides  the  position 
of  his  body  was  somehow  not  that  of  ordinary  slumber;  it 
was  too  loose,  too  jointless,  the  arms  and  legs  flung  abroad; 
his  hat  lay  a  few  feet  away.  The  two  young  people  stood  an 
instant,  appalled.  Then  Steven  interposed  as  the  girl  made 
a  movement. 

''  You  wait  here  a  minute,"  he  commanded.  ''  I'll  see 
what's  the  matter  first." 

She  obeyed,  with  an  involuntary  recoil,  recognizing  that 
his  fear  was  the  same  as  her  own.  ''  I  hope  he  isn't  —  !  "  she 
ejaculated. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  99 

Steve  scrambled  over  the  rocks.  Coming  nearer,  he  caught 
with  inordinate  relief  a  sound  of  thick  and  heavy  breathing; 
the  man  was  still  alive,  anyhow.  Nearer  yet,  he  caught 
something  else  —  a  whiff  of  something  that,  alas,  was  not 
the  clean  sea-air;  a  hideous  possibility  flashed  through  his 
mind,  and  became  a  certainty  even  as  it  passed.  He  went 
close  and  bent  over  the  prostrate  body ;  he  took  hold  of  it  by 
the  shoulder;  it  stirred  and  muttered  incoherently.  Dead, 
forsooth!  Steven  could  have  wished  him  dead  in  good 
earnest;  instead,  here  he  lay,  a  log  —  a  hog,  the  young  man 
thought  in  disgust  and  anger. 

"  Is  he  hurt?  Badly?  "  Mary  called.  "  He  spoke  then, 
didn't  he?  "    She  started  towards  them. 

Steven  shouted  at  her  in  stark  panic.  "Don't!  Don't! 
You  can't  do  anything.  Stay  there!  Stay  where  you  are!  " 
he  implored.  "  He's  all  right  — there's  nothing  the  matter. 
I  can  take  care  of  him.  Go  on  home!  Don't,  Mary!  Please 
don't !     Please  go  away  —  !  " 

But  she  had  reached  them.  She  stooped  over  and  looked 
close,  and  said  "  Oh!  " 

Steve  felt  as  if  he  were  one  furnace  of  shame  from  head 
to  foot;  had  she  been  another  man,  the  adventure  would  have 
been  sufficiently  distasteful,  but  a  girl  —  a  girl  he  knew  — 
Mary  Ballard  —  it  was  sacrilege  for  her  to  look  upon  such 
a  thing.  He  wanted  to  snatch  her  away  from  the  pollution, 
he  wanted  to  fall  on  his  knees  and  beg  her  forgiveness  for 
the  whole  race  of  men  and  drunkards  —  and  he  could  only 
say  wretchedly:  "  He's  —  he's  sick!  " 

"  No,  he  isn't,  Steven,"  said  the  girl  composedly.  ''  I  know 
what's  the  matter  with  him.  We'll  have  to  get  him  home. 
He  can't  lie  out  here  in  the  cold  —  " 

"  Mary,  if  you'll  just  go  on  —  if  you'll  just  go  away  —  " 

"  You  can't  do  it  by  yourself,  Steve.  It  takes  two  to 
handle  them  when  they're  this  bad  —  " 

"  I'll  run  back  and  get  some  one.  Mary,  please!  This  isn't 
any  job  for  a  girl.     It's  —  it's  horrible  — !  " 

"  Yes,  it's  horrible  — but  it's  got  to  be  done,"  said  Mary, 
silencing  him  with  a  hand.  She  spoke  rapidly  with  a  clear- 
headed decision  drawn  from  some  unguessed  reserve  of  prac- 
tical knowledge,  or  sheer  courage  and  conomon-sense.  ''  You 


100  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

won't  have  time  to  get  anybody;  the  tide  will  be  up  here 
before  you  can  go  and  get  back.  And  anyhow  it  would  make 
a  lot  of  talk  all  over  this  little  place,  and  you  can't  have  that. 
Cap'n  Howe  might  feel  that  he'd  have  to  turn  him  out;  or 
we  might  get  talked  about  ourselves.  You  don't  know  what 
might  happen.  I'm  pretty  strong,  and  we  can  drag  him  be- 
tween us,  if  he  can't  stand  up.  I  think  he  can.  They  gen- 
erally can  if  you  make  them  try."  And  with  this  final  bit  of 
uncanny  wisdom,  she  stooped  again,  and  shook  the  sleeper's 
arm  experimentally.  ''  Mr.  Rudd!  Mr.  Rudd!  "  said  Mary, 
jogging  him  to  and  fro.    ''  Wake  up!  " 

Eugene  opened  his  eyes  and  rolled  them  at  her  stupidly, 
uttering  an  inarticulate  noise  like  an  animal. 

"  Get  up !  "  said  Mary  sharply.  "  You  can,  you  know. 
Get  up!" 

She  appeared  to  be  absolutely  unafraid,  and  stranger  still, 
unrepelled !  It  was  astounding,  if  Steven  had  had  room  for 
astonishment,  but  the  needs  of  the  moment  absorbed  all  his 
energies.  He  got  hold  of  Eugene  by  the  other  arm,  and  to- 
gether they  hoisted  him  upon  his  feet. 

It  was  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  Cap'n  Eben's  house. 
As  the  young  woman  had  judged,  Eugene,  though  he  could 
not  have  kept  his  balance  without  their  support,  could  stag- 
ger, roll,  reel  along  somehow,  with  it.  They  did  not  have  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  with  him,  mainly  because  he  was  too 
far  gone  to  protest  effectively.  Less  drunk,  he  might  be  very 
ugly,  Steven  suspected,  arguing  from  some  few  experiences 
with  drunken  men.  He  was  thankful  on  Mary's  account  — 
though  it  seemed  likely  that  she  would  have  been  able  to 
cope  with  the  brutal  phases  of  intoxication,  too;  she  dis- 
played, as  they  went  along,  so  ghastly  a  familiarity  with 
the  tactics  of  the  situation!  Luckily  they  met  no  one;  the 
lights  were  all  out  in  the  cottages,  and  it  was  too  cold  for 
strolling.  Yet  the  quarter  of  a  mile  lengthened  to  leagues ; 
it  took  hours,  years,  an  eternity,  and  the  last  part  of  the 
journey  was  the  worst,  the  path  being  so  steep,  the  stairs 
steeper,  and  the  necessity  for  caution  weighing  heavily  on 
both  young  people.  As  it  was,  Steven  wondered  that  the 
whole  house  did  not  rouse;  the  noise  of  their  entrance,  and 
of  their  laborious,  shuffling,  shoving  progress  to  the  first 
landing  seemed  to  him  fairly  to  shake  the  universe. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SOX  IQl 

"  I'd  better  take  him  from  this  on,  don't  you  think?  "  he 
whispered  to  the  girl.  ''  It's  only  one  more  flight,  and  if 
anyone  sees  us,  they'll  just  see  me  —  " 

She  nodded,  relinquishing  her  hold.  An  oil-lamp,  with  a 
tin  reflector  behind  it,  nailed  on  high,  lighted  the  narrow 
passage,  and  Steven  saw  a  door  at  the  other  end  of  it,  shut 
quickly  and  soundlessly;  Mary  sped  towards  it;  and  even 
in  the  act  of  taking  a  fresh  grip  and  propping  Eugene  against 
the  wall,  it  came  to  Steve  with  a  dart  of  apprehension,  a 
dart  of  relief,  that  that  was  the  Ballards'  own  door.  Her 
mother  must  have  waked,  or  perhaps  was  on  the  w^atch  any- 
how; and  if  there  was  a  woman  on  earth  who  could  be  trusted 
both  to  lie  discreetly  and  to  hold  her  tongue  discreetly,  it 
was  Mrs.  Ballard.  He  was  bracing  himself  for  the  struggle 
up  the  next  flight  to  where  the  next  tin  pharos  burned  dimly, 
when  Cap'n  Eben  came  padding  out,  a  weird,  goateed  figure 
in  night-shirt  and  pantaloons,  and  expressed  himself  in  a 
nasal  expletive  —  subdued  in  tone,  however  —  at  sight  of 
them. 

"  Found  him  down  on  the  beach,"  said  Steven. 

The  captain  contributed  prompt  and  efficient  assistance. 
"  Brung  him  here  just  yourself?  "  he  queried,  not  without 
approval.    "  I  want  to  know!  " 


CHAPTER  IX 

STEVEN  went  back  to  his  car,  which  had  been  left  in 
front  of  the  other  Captain  Howe's  gate,  and  drove  off 
home  in  a  more  or  less  clouded  mood.  It  should  have 
been  midnight  by  the  way  he  felt,  but  was  actually  about 
ten  o'clock  —  surely  not  a  disreputable  hour  for  a  young  man 
and  woman  to  have  been  out  together ;  but  Steve  recognized 
the  prudence  of  Mary's  counsel.  She  was  right;  the  whole 
thing  had  to  be  kept  as  quiet  as  possible,  more  for  their  own 
sake  than  for  that  poor  miserable  souse  of  a  Eugene,  who 
had  very  little  to  lose  in  the  way  of  reputation.  But  what  a 
girl !  To  think,  to  speak,  to  act  so  marvellously  to  the  pur- 
pose in  an  emergency  that  must  have  been  for  her  absolutely 
without  precedent!  Even  Edith,  who  represented  to  her 
brother  all  that  was  most  forcible  in  the  feminine  character, 
could  not  have  bettered  the  performance.  In  spite  of  that, 
Mary's  valiant  services  must  go  without  praise,  without 
thanks,  above  all  from  the  poor  creature  they  had  benefited. 
For  it  was  Steven's  humane  hope  that  Eugene,  when  he 
came  to  himself,  would  not  remember  anything  distinctly 
about  last  night;  it  must  have  happened  to  him  again  and 
again  to  have  been  picked  up  and  escorted  home  by  some 
Samaritan  Tom,  Dick  or  Harry,  so  that  circumstance  by 
itself  could  not  deeply  humiliate  him;  but  Heaven  forbid 
that  he  should  ever  know  of  Mary's  share  on  this  last  occa- 
sion. It  was  bad  enough  for  Steven  himself  to  have  to  know 
it.  The  young  man  reflected  with  a  grim  humor  that  a  day- 
long sermon  on  Temperance  would  not  have  affected  him  so 
powerfully;  he  was  not  given  to  fleshly  indulgences,  being 
by  nature  of  a  cleanly  habit  in  mind  and  body;  but  now  he 
felt  as  if  he  would  never  want  a  drink  of  anything  stronger 
than  water  the  rest  of  his  life!  He  found,  however,  that  his 
anger  with  Eugene  had  faded  to  a  kind  of  impatient  pity. 
Here  was  a  man  of  brains  and  talents,  an  educated  man 

102 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  103 

who  in  early  life  had  had  every  possible  chance  given  him, 
a  man  moreover  of  fine  instincts,  humor,  spirit,  —  above  the 
average,  in  short  —  and  he  must  go  and  throw  himself  away, 
debase  himself  to  the  level  of  the  dullest  degenerate  that  ever 
came  out  of  the  slums.  It  was  such  a  waste  —  such  an  irrep- 
arable waste  and  loss. 

He  was  just  turning  in  between  the  ivy-bound  gate-posts 
which  had  been  copied,  brick  by  brick,  from  those  at  the 
entrance  to  an  old  Virginia  estate  —  everything  about  the 
place  exhibited  Lawson's  thoroughness,  being  "  Colonial  " 
en  suite,  down  to  the  very  hinges  on  the  doors — when  he  saw 
two  other  headlights  glancing  around  the  curves  of  the  drive 
at  a  rather  reckless  rate  of  speed,  and  prudently  checked  up 
a  little,  drawing  to  one  side.  It  was  George,  he  guessed, 
coming  away  from  an  evening  with  Hester;  and  to  be  sure,  as 
the  lights  drew  near,  the  driver  suddenly  slowed  down  in  his 
turn,  and  leaned  aside  from  the  wheel,  shouting. 

''Hello!    That  you,  Steve?  " 

"Hello!"  Steven  shouted  back,  preparing  to  pass.  But 
George  brought  his  big  machine  to  a  standstill  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  and  shut  off  the  power,  and  jumped  out;  he 
came  over  buoyantly. 

''  Hey?  Ami:hing  the  matter?  "  said  Steven,  continuing 
to  forge  ahead  by  inches. 

"  Shut  down  your  engine,  you  darned  lobster!  "  said  the 
other  young  man,  affectionately.  ''  Been  over  to  see  Mary? 
Well,  Steve,  I've  beat  you  to  it!  "  His  face  was  indistinguish- 
able in  the  dark,  but  his  voice  and  whole  figure  unmistakably 
radiated  content,  happiness,  a  victorious  excitement.  ''  Shut 
off,  I  tell  you!" 

''  What's  that?  Beat  me  to  what?  "  said  Steven,  com- 
plying. 

''  To  the  license,  you!  "  All  at  once  George's  wild  exhila- 
ration gave  way  to  some  deeper  feeling.  His  voice  shook. 
"She  —  she  said  she  would  —  vou  know?  To-night.  Oh, 
Steve—  !  "  he  blurted  out,  "  I'm  — I  can't  hold  in  — I  feel 
so  —  so  —  why,  I  never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  happv 
before!" 

Steven  behaved  appropriately.  "  Why,  George,  you  don't 
tell  me!    W^hy,  that's  great!  "  he  said,  and  shook  George's 


104  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

hand,  and  thumped  him  on  the  back,  exaggerating  his  cor- 
diality a  little  maybe,  touched,  a  trifle  amused.  In  the 
brother's  eyes,  though  he  was  fond  enough  of  Hester,  all  this 
jubilation  over  winning  her  was  somewhat  out  of  proportion. 
If  it  had  been  Edith,  now  — !  But  Steven  liked  George,  and 
if  he  was  satisfied,  that  was  the  main  thing. 

He  was  much  more  than  satisfied;  he  was  tremulously 
exultant,  deprecatory,  wondering  at  his  good  luck.  "  Steve, 
you  know  I  can  hardly  believe  it.  She's  such  a  glorious 
girl  —  she  —  she  —  " 

"Sure!"  said  Steve,  pumping  his  hand  up  and  down. 
''  You  —  you're  all  right,  too,  George.  Everybody  in  our 
family  will  be  pleased,"  he  assured  him  awkwardly;  but 
George  scarcely  heard. 

"  I  can't  believe  it,"  he  repeated.  "  A  girl  like  Hester  — 
hang  it,  you  know,  Steve,  a  man  isn't  fit  —  no  man  deserves 
it  —  I  know  /  don't  deserve  it  anyhow.  I  —  I  feel  as  if  I'd 
give  a  year  out  of  my  life  to  —  to  wipe  the  slate  clean,  you 
know  —  to  be  good  enough,  you  know  —  " 

''Aw,  g'wan,  George!"  said  Steve  in  amiable  raillery, 
shrinking  like  any  other  young  man,  from  these  intimacies, 
mortally  afraid  of  further  revelations,  though  they  might  be 
entertaining  enough  from  anybody  but  a  prospective 
brother-in-law.    "  When  is  it  to  be?  " 

''  She  wouldn't  say,"  sighed  George,  a  cloud  briefly 
shadowing  his  ecstasy.  "  She  made  me  promise  not  to  tease 
her  about  it.  She  can't  bear  to  leave  your  father  and  mother, 
you  know;  she's  the  only  girl  they  have  left  now.  She  can't 
make  up  her  mind  to  it.  But  we're  engaged,  anyhow.  Oh, 
Steve,  she's  the  most  wonderful  girl !  Of  course  you're  her 
brother;  you  know  what  she  is!  " 

''  Yes.  Yes,  indeed  I  do !  "  Steven  agreed  warmly  — think- 
ing meanwhile  that  Hester's  devotion  to  her  father  and 
mother  was  truly  wonderful,  about  the  most  wonderful  and 
novel  thing  he  ever  expected  to  witness !  He  said  to  himself 
reprovingly  that  Hester  was  all  right  —  he  did  not  mean  to 
be  cynical  —  she  wasn't  quite  so  perfect  as  George  thought, 
that  was  all.  Supposing  some  fellow  came  around  raving 
this  way  to  George  over  his  sister  Clara?  Wouldn't  George 
feel  just  about  as  he,  Steven,  felt  now? 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  105 

"  Well,  see  you  to-morrow  —  "  said  George,  going  back 
to  his  own  car;  "  unless  you  go  over  to  the  Cove,  as  usual." 
He  got  in  and  slammed  the  door,  elevating  his  voice  again, 
as  both  automobiles  began  to  move.  "  Say,  Steve,  why  don't 
you  and  Mary  speed  up  a  little?  Come  on  in,  the  water's 
fme!  " 

For  once,  however,  Steven  did  not  go  to  Thanksgiving 
Cove;  he  might  have  beguiled  himself  with  the  argument 
that  Eugene  needed  looking  after,  if  it  had  not  been  sadly 
evident  that  the  latter  would  be  in  no  condition  to  receive 
visitors,  even  on  errands  of  mercy,  for  another  thirty-six 
hours,  at  the  shortest;  besides  which,  young  Mr.  Rudd  had 
something  else  on  his  mind,  something  that  he  considered 
ought  to  be  attended  to  before  any  more  Cove  journey ings. 
Instead,  therefore,  of  ordering  out  his  car  at  the  customary 
hour  next  morning,  he  went  in  search  of  the  senior  Rudd, 
who,  they  told  him,  would  probably  be  among  the  green- 
houses. And  there,  sure  enough,  Steve  found  him,  in  an  old 
suit  of  clothes,  with  earth-stained  hands,  and  a  fine,  full- 
bodied  perfume  of  fertilizer  clinging  about  his  boots, 
whistling  '^  II  mio  tesoro,"  while  he  happily  sorted  bulbs,  of 
which  a  tremendous  consignment  for  the  fall  planting  had 
just  arrived.  The  place  was  pleasantly  quiet  except  for 
this  low  whistle,  which  was  singularly  sweet,  penetrating  and 
true.  They  had  cleared  a  potting-bench  for  the  work, 
mounding  it  where  the  soil  had  been,  with  brown  paper  bags 
of  all  the  tulips,  jonquils  and  crocus  in  the  world,  it  seemed 
to  Steven.  At  the  other  end  of  the  bench,  Angus  McCrae 
sorted  diligently,  standing  and  resting  his  left  leg,  the  one 
that  was  too  short,  on  a  coil  of  hose,  and  keeping  his  perfect 
side  towards  Mr.  Rudd.  Apart  from  the  leg,  in  spite  of 
which  he  handled  himself  surprisingly  well,  Angus  was  a 
well-built,  sturdy  young  man;  his  gravity  and  taciturnity 
were  probably  native,  too,  uninfluenced  by  the  deformity, 
for  there  was  no  hint  of  melancholy  about  him.  On  the 
contrary,  Lawson  often  asserted  that  he  was  the  best  of 
companions  without  ever  opening  his  mouth.  So  now  he 
worked  in  tranquillizing  silence  as  always.  There  was  no 
artificial  heat  in  this  glass-house,  nevertheless  the  air  felt 
faintly  warmer  than  outside;  it  was  flavored  with  those 


106  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

odors  of  growth  and  decay  about  which  there  is  something 
pastoral  and  wholesome. 

Steven's  father  looked  up,  and  gave  him  a  nod  of  greet- 
ing, and  went  on  sorting;  Steven  leaned  against  the  jamb  of 
the  door,  and  watched  them  for  a  few  minutes.  ''  What  a 
lot  of  plants!  "  he  said  at  length. 

''  Going  to  naturalize  these  narcissus  —  plant  big  groups, 
regular  sheets,  hundreds  in  a  bunch,  here  and  there  in  those 
little  open  places  through  the  woods.  You  must  have  noticed 
every  now  and  then  there's  an  opening  like  a  little  pocket  of 
sunshine  —  an  ideal  exposure!  "  said  his  father  enthusiasti- 
cally; he  was  like  a  boy  with  his  bulbs  and  his  plans  and  the 
manure  on  his  boots.  ''  I  thought  we  ought  to  have  more  of 
these  earliest  flowers  — '  Daffodils  that  come  before  the 
swallow  dares,'"  he  quoted,  handling  them  fondly:  ''Hey, 
young  gentleman,  you  can't  tell  me  what  that's  from!  " 

"  Yes,  I  can.  I've  taken  a  shot  at  writing  a  play  myself; 
it's  from  '  Winter's  Tale,'  "  retorted  Steven. 

"  Why,  you  do  know  something  after  all!  "  Lawson  ejac- 
ulated in  mock  surprise.    ''  Shakespeare  says  some  beauti- 
ful things  about  flowers.  All  those  old  Elizabethans  had  ideas 
about  gardening.    I  remember  once  thinking  that  I'd  have  a 
garden  such  as  Bacon  describes  in  one  of  the  essays,  but 
he  had  it  laid  out  with  some  fantastic  scheme  of  arbors  with 
bird-cages  in  'em,  that  I  decided  wouldn't  be  very  attractive. 
These  tulips  are  mostly  for  a  Dutch  garden  I'm  starting. 
My  own  design,  Steve.    I'm  going  to  make  it  like  those  I've 
seen  in  the  old  country  —  in  Holland  —  tulip-land  itself. 
There'll  be  vegetables  and  flowers  all  mixed  in  together; 
they  don't  waste  any  space  over  there,  you  know.    If  there 
isn't  room  for  something  useful,  they  put  in  something  beau- 
tiful, or  the  other  way  around ;  but  every  inch  must  be  made 
to  yield.     Now  for  instance,  onion-beds  divided  off  with 
ribbon  plantings  of  pansies,  say;  and  potatoes  with  clove- 
pinks.    I  think  I'll  have  a  whitewashed  brick  wall  enclosing 
the  whole  business,  with  dwarf  peach-trees  trained  on  it, 
and  in  front  good-sized  beds  of  iris.    One  ought  to  have  a 
great  many  pot-herbs  in  such  a  garden,  too  —  thyme  and 
parsley ;  and  of  course  very  bright  brick-red  geraniums  —  " 
he  paused,  gazing  speculatively. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  107 

"  You'd  have  made  a  bully  farmer  if  you'd  ever  had  to 
work  that  way,  Dad,"  said  the  young  man,  not  without 
wonder. 

"  You  wouldn't!  "  Lawson  said,  laughing.  ^'  You  ought  to 
try  and  get  interested  in  it,  Steven.  Every  extra  thing  you 
get  interested  in,  is  an  asset  for  your  old  age.  When  you 
can't  work  any  more,  you'll  at  least  know  a  variety  of  ways 
of  playing." 

''  But  you  always  did  like  farming.  You  didn't  have  to 
try.  Suppose  I  suggested  to  you  to  take  up  the  study  of 
geometry  for  a  recreation!  " 

''You'd  be  the  first  man  that  ever  called  it  that!"  his 
father  retorted.  He  began  to  segregate  the  bags  again, 
striking  into  "  Angels  ever  bright  and  fair/'  in  a  louder 
whistle.  The  high  notes  soared  pure  and  ringing  as  if  from 
a  flute. 

''  I  can't  whistle  either,"  said  Steven,  with  an  envy  that 
was  not  entirely  pretended;  his  admiration  for  his  father, 
which  was  a  real  and  deep  feeling,  extending  even  to  Law- 
son's  rather  unusual  whistle,  always  melodious  and  true. 

"  No,  you  can't !  And,  Steven,  that's  one  thing  I  don't 
recommend  you  to  try,"  Lawson  said  solemnly.  "  I've  heard 
you!  'Take  vie  .  .  .  take  me  .  .  .  take,  oh  take  me  to 
your  care! ' "  He  halted  abruptly.  '*  You  wanted  to  see 
me  about  something,  Steve?  " 

''  Why,  yes,  I  —  " 

"  Very  well,  I'm  coming."  Mr.  Rudd  wiped  his  hands  on 
a  piece  of  burlap,  and  strolled  toward  the  door.  "  We  can 
take  a  walk  around  the  garden,  and  look  at  everything. 
Smoke?  " 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  Steven,  a  little  nervously,  finding  all 
at  once  that  it  was  going  to  be  more  difficult  than  he  had 
thought  to  open  up  the  two  subjects  he  had  in  mind.  Per- 
haps his  father,  who  was  quick-witted  and  no  second-rate 
judge  of  men,  had  some  inkling  of  the  younger  man's 
trouble ;  he  lit  a  cigarette  himself  and  continued  the  saunter- 
ing in  a  receptive  silence. 

''  I  saw  George  last  night,"  said  Steven  finally,  fishing  for 
a  good  lead.    ''  I  suppose  he'd  spoken  to  you?  " 

"  Oh  yes.    Of  course  I  didn't  raise  any  objection.    I  don't 


108  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

know  a  man  that  I'd  like  better  to  see  a  daughter  of  mine 
married  to  than  George." 

''  I  told  him  all  our  family  would  be  pleased.  He  was 
fairly  running  over  with  joy.  Had  to  stop  me  at  the  gate 
to  tell  me!  It  was  funny,  but  you  —  you  liked  him  for  it 
just  the  same,  somehow."  Here  Steven  suddenly  made  up 
his  mind  to  the  first  plunge.  ''  I  was  coming  home  from 
Thanksgiving  Cove.  Dad,  did  you  know  that  Eugene  was 
staying  there?  " 

''  Hey?  Eugene?  "  said  Mr.  Rudd,  stopping  short.  "  No, 
I  didn't.  I  thought  he  said  Clam  Beach.  But  it's  of  no  conse- 
quence to  me  where  he  stays,  anyhow.  I  haven't  thought 
about  him  since  that  time  we  met  him,"  said  Lawson,  re- 
suming the  walk.     "  Why,  what  of  it?  " 

"  Nothing.  Only  I  thought  you  might  not  know.  And  I've 
been  going  over  there  right  along,  and  seeing  him  almost 
every  day." 

"  Yes?  " 

"  Well,  Dad,  I  —  I  like  him.  Everybody  over  there  likes 
him.  If  it  wasn't  for  that  —  that  one  thing,  you  know,  he'd 
be  all  right." 

''  Eugene^s  a  bright  man,"  said  the  elder  Rudd,  in  a  man- 
ner of  complete  detachment. 

''  It  -seems  an  awful  pity  his  lushing  that  way.  It  must 
have  been  pretty  trying  for  you  and  Uncle  El.  Only  he  was 
just  a  young  fellow  then,  wasn't  he?  It  couldn't  have  been 
quite  so  bad  as  it  is  now." 

"  It  gave  promise  of  growing  worse,"  said  Lawson,  after  a 
short  silence.  ''  I've  not  seen  him  more  than  half  a  dozen 
times  since.    As  you  say,  it's  a  great  pity." 

"  The  doctors  say  that  drink's  a  disease,  sometimes." 

His  father  uttered  a  slight  grunt  which  might  have  meant 
anything,  and  Steve  went  on:  ''  Well,  all  I  wanted  to  say  was 
that  I  —  I  was  beginning  to  be  sorry  for  him,  and  to  think 
that  maybe  you  and  Uncle  Elihu  might  have  been  unneces- 
sarily harsh,"  he  confessed,  reddening  and  stammering  but 
honest  —  "when  you  —  turned  him  out,  you  know — ?" 

"  Your  uncle  and  I  didn't  turn  Eugene  out,  Steven,"  said 
his  father,  still  impersonally;  "  he  went  of  his  own  accord." 

"  Oh!    Well,  of  course,  I  only  guessed  at  the  circumstan- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  109 

ces  —  I  simply  meant  when  he  left  home.  I  was  beginning  to 
feel  rather  mushy  and  sympathetic  —  till  I  saw  him  drunk!  " 
Steven  shook  his  head.  "  I  understand  now.  You  couldn't 
put  up  with  that  sort  of  thing.  Likely  to  happen  any  time ! 
I  daresay  he  realized  it  himself,  since  he  left  you  of  himself." 

After  another  short  pause,  Mr.  Rudd  said,  ''  We  acted  to 
the  best  of  our  judgment." 

They  walked  along,  Steven  in  some  relief  and  with  a  fam- 
ily pride  reinforced  by  this  small  scene.  He  himself  had 
done  an  unnecessary  thing,  maybe,  but  at  any  rate,  a  decent 
and  straightforward  thing;  and  his  father  had  rigidly  ad- 
hered to  the  Rudd  code  of  noblesse  oblige  —  though  not  more 
rigidly  than  the  weakling,  Eugene ;  not  a  word  to  the  other's 
prejudice,  a  judge-for-yourself  reticence. 

Two  men  with  a  horse  and  cart-load  of  loose  earth  came 
around  a  bend  towards  them,  shepherded  by  the  elder  Mc- 
Crae,  who  halted  with  a  sort  of  military  salute  at  sight  of  the 
master  of  the  place.  The  men,  who  were  Italians,  swarthy, 
good-natured  looking  pirates,  uncovered  civilly,  smiling  with 
glistening  teeth.  All  the  work-people  about  the  estate  liked 
and  respected  the  owner;  they  did  not  know  his  son  so  well, 
and  stared  rather  hard  at  the  young  fellow. 

"  That's  some  dirt  for  the  tulip-garden,  I  expect,"  said 
Lawson.  "  It's  going  to  be  over  here  to  the  right."  He  went  up 
to  the  wagon,  and  ploughed  out  a  handful  of  the  soft,  brown 
soil,  and  held  it  to  his  nose,  sniffing  luxurioush\  "  I  like 
the  smell  of  good  earth,"  he  explained,  laughing  to  behold 
Steven's  amazement  at  the  spectacle;  ^'  don't  3'ou,  McCrae?" 

"  It's  what  we're  a'  made  oot  of,  Mr.  Rudd,"  said  the  Scot 
gravely  and  with  admirable  caution.  Besides  being  an  ex- 
pert gardener,  he  was  a  man  of  marked  character,  tenacious 
of  his  opinions,  prompt  in  judgment  and  action  —  but  no 
one  had  ever  known  McCrae  to  commit  himself  in  speech! 
Lawson  described  these  traits  to  Steven  as  they  passed  and 
got  out  of  hearing,  with  immense  relish. 

''Very  funny!  He's  absolutely  honest,  and  has  been  in 
charge  here  fifteen  years.  All  that  time  he's  never  left  a 
penny  unaccounted  for,  or  failed  in  a  single  one  of  his  respon- 
sibilities —  and  I  don't  believe  he's  ever  said  '  Yes '  or 
'  No  '  downright  to  anything !     That's  another  thing  about 


no  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

gardening,  Steve;  there's  nothing  like  it  for  getting  you 
acquainted  with  men  —  studying  human  nature." 

"  I  thought  any  kind  of  business  necessitated  that." 

''  Not  to  the  same  degree  —  that  is  —  well,  it's  different, 
anyhow,"  said  his  father  with  a  half  laugh,  realizing  that 
his  hobby  was  not  to  be  effectively  backed  up  by  such  argu- 
ments. "  That  boy  Angus  —  he's  a  sample  of  what  garden- 
ing does  for  a  man  —  " 

''  Seems  to  me  you're  going  off  on  another  tack.  Dad." 

"  To  be  sure  I  am !  I  say  ohat  boy  Angus  couldn't  do  any- 
thing else  nearly  so  well,  and  there  isn't  anything  else  that 
would  have  developed  him  so  much.  He's  going  to  take  the 
engineering  course  at  Boston  Tech,  and  make  an  all-around 
landsca'oc-architect  of  himself ;  he's  had  nearly  all  the  prac- 
tical experience  necessary." 

''Fine!-'' 

"  Yes,  isn't  it?  '"'  said  i  /awson,  omitting  to  mention  that  his 
own  liberality  had  made  the  ^mdertaking  possible  for  young 
McCrae.  "  Angus  has  ?  real  lOve  for  beauty.  Have  you 
noticed  that  whenever  you  nappen  to  run  across  him  he  al- 
ways contrives  to  keep  his  good  side  towards  you?  That's 
not  vanity;  that's  just  a  desire  not  to  be  a  jarring  note,  not 
to  introduce  anything  that  would  suggest  pain  or  ugliness 
where  everything  else  is  so  beautiful.'^ 

"Poor  fellow!" 

"  He  told  me  so  himself  one  day  in  his  shy  way.  We  have 
gotten  to  be  great  friends,  working  together.  I  —  I  was  very 
much  touched." 

"  It  is  touching." 

They  reached  a  little  esplanade,  paved  with  broken  flag- 
stones sunk  in  moss,  and  walled  on  the  landward  side  with 
a  bank  of  late,  bright  bloom,  amongst  which  here  and  there 
the  slender,  dark  spire  of  a  juniper  rose,  as  it  were,  unbidden, 
like  a  somber  thought  in  the  midst  of  gayety.  Across  the 
opposite  side  a  weathered  stone  railing  guarded  the  edge  of 
the  cliff.  There  was  a  stone  bench  in  the  sunshine  and  they 
sat  down,  facing  the  great,  brilliant  hollow  of  the  sea  and 
sky.  Now  was  the  moment  for  Steven  to  begin  on  that 
other  matter;  but  all  the  approaches  he  had  rehearsed  over 
night,  incontinently  departed  from  his  memory!    The  most 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  111 

he  could  do,  conscious  all  the  while  that  it  was  only  a  palter- 
ing device  to  gain  time,  was  to  inquire  with  an  inordinate  dis- 
play of  interest  what  was  the  name  of  that  bush  with  the 
pink  and  white  flowers,  over  there? 

''  That?  Why,  that's  a  plant  John  Stillman  brought  back 
from  a  trip  he  made  to  Norway,  one  summer,"  said  Mr. 
Rudd.  "  It's  a  —  a  —  well,  the  name  will  come  to  me  after 
a  while,  probably.  He  admired  it  tremendously,  and  told 
me  he  thought  about  me  at  once,  and  made  sure  to  bring 
enough  so  that  I  could  have  a  root,  too.  Now  to  my  taste, 
it's  not  very  beautiful  or  remarkable  in  any  way,  but  I  like 
it  anyhow,  on  Johnnie's  account;  it  didn't  thrive  for  a  while, 
but  McCrae  finally  got  it  acclimated.  Great  triumph; 
pleased  me  very  much!  Why  yes  —  why  not,  Steve?"  he 
asked,  meeting  the  frank  surprise  of  his  son's  face.  "  To 
have  something  from  a  friend's  garden,  to  plant  it  and  see 
it  grow  —  I  think  that  must  be  about  the  least  selfish  of 
human  pleasures,  the  most  innocent,  anyway." 

Steven  sat  dumb.  He  himself  would  have  cherished  a 
gift  in  the  same  way  and  for  the  same  reason  —  for  the 
giver's  sake,  to  please  him;  but  this  exhibition  of  sentiment 
on  both  sides  between  two  such  superlatively  unsentimental 
persons  as  he  had  always  taken  his  father  and  Mr.  Stillman 
to  be,  was  a  revelation.  It  came  upon  him  forcibly  that  in 
all  his  life  he  had  not  found  out  so  much  about  his  father  as 
in  this  last  half-hour  —  had  never  tried  to  find  out.  The 
older  Rudd  had  indeed  ceased  to  be  a  remote  controller  of 
destinies,  a  personage  of  Arabian  Nights'  resources,  of  incon- 
ceivable powers  and  activities,  inhabiting  an  unimaginable 
realm  called  an  ofiice,  and  visiting  the  nursery- world  at  set 
intervals,  like  the  sun.  That  awesome  individual  had  given 
place,  at  about  Steven's  freshman  year  to  a  bizarre  combina- 
tion of  "  cranky  "  old  gentleman,  public  character  and  pri- 
vate autocrat,  with  occasional  flashes  of  a  rather  disturbing 
insight  and  humor.  Nowadays  in  his  quality  of  ''  Dad  " 
Steve  felt  for  him  the  tolerance  which  with  most  children 
passes  for  filial  affection ;  as  the  only  other  man  in  the  house 
there  existed  between  them  a  bond  of  sex  sympathy ;  but  as 
Lawson  Rudd  of  the  Rudd  Chemical  Company,  as  the  "  big 
man"  in  ''  big  business,"  Steve  was  proud  of  his  father, 


112  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

vehemently  desirous  of  following  him  worthily,  hitherto  at 
heart  uneasy  about  his  ability  to  do  so.  This  discovery  of 
an  unsuspected  treasure  of  gentleness  in  his  senior  encour- 
aged him  as  much  as  it  took  him  aback.  ''  Why,  Edie  was 
right!  Father  and  I  are  really  very  much  alike!  "  he  thought 
with  a  glow  of  something  like  pleased  vanity.  But  here  was 
Mr.  Stillman,  too,  who  had  alwa^-s  seemed  not  to  have  an 
idea  or  an  interest  apart  from  his  complicated  affairs,  re- 
vealing a  quaintly  romantic  feeling!  Who  would  have  be- 
lieved it  of  those  two,  hard,  busy  old  boys?  They  were 
just  like  himself  and,  say,  Jack  Burke;  to  be  sure,  it  was  not 
quite  possible  to  figure  them  writing  blank  verse,  or  day- 
dreaming together,  or  discussing  solemn  abstractions  by  the 
hour,  as  he  and  Jack  did;  they  were  too  old,  too  slow,  prosy 
and  unimaginative,  he  thought  pityingly,  but  they  undoubt- 
edly practised  some  equivalent  form  of  fellowship.  For  the 
moment,  Steven  found  the  gulf  between  the  generations 
bridged.  ''  Dad,  I  wanted  to  tell  you  —  "  he  began  without 
any  of  those  adroit  preambles  he  had  studied;  and  said 
what  he  had  to  say  becomingly. 

Mr.  Rudd  repeated  it  —  or  rather  gave  a  condensed 
version  of  as  much  as  he  thought  expedient  —  to  his  wife 
that  night,  standing  on  the  hearth-rug  in  front  of  the  dain- 
tily carved  white  wood  mantel  in  the  lady's  fanciful  little 
boudoir,  which  was  all  rose-tinted  silk  upholsterings  and 
rose-flowered  chintz,  with  rosettes,  flounces,  flutings,  painted 
tables,  chiffon  lamp-shades  and  what-not.  In  the  middle  of 
it  Mrs.  Rudd  bloomed  like  a  rose  herself  —  a  somewhat  full- 
blown one  —  in  a  pink  and  lace  neglige;  and  Hester  came 
in  and  sat  on  the  foot  of  the  gilt  and  ivory  chaise  longue, 
cuddling  Dingbats  in  her  lap,  and  listening.  At  the  end, 
the  two  women  exchanged  a  glance,  but  they  made  scarcely 
any  comment  and  that  of  a  sweetly  non-committal  nature, 
until  the  head  of  the  house  had  left  the  room.  It  was  a  car- 
dinal principle  with  both  of  them  never  to  be  anything  but 
softly  appealing,  acquiescent,  and  opinionless  in  the  com- 
pany of  a  man,  even  a  husband,  even  a  father;  agree  to 
every  word  he  uttered  —  and  go  your  own  way  afterwards, 
was  their  Golden  Rule. 

"  Steve's  awfully  easy,"  Hester  observed,  breaking  the 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  113 

brief  silence  that  followed  Mr.  Rudd's  departure.  "  I  knew 
she'd  get  him.  She  had  it  all  framed  up  —  working  on  his 
sympathy  and  —  and  chivalry,  and  all  that  sort  of  stuff." 
"  It  wasn't  Mary.  She  couldn't  have  thought  it  out  for 
herself.  It  was  her  mother;  she's  always  done  all  the  think- 
ing, and  then  coached  Mary.  Ellen  Ballard  always  knows 
exactly  what  to  say,  and  exactly  how  to  take  everybody. 
She's  very  clever,"  said  the  older  lady. 


CHAPTER  X 

ON  arriving  at  Cap'n  Eben  Howe's,  Steven  was  in- 
formed by  the  captain  himself  that  both  Ballard 
ladies  had  gone  up  to  Cap'n  Si's  to  say  good-by  to 
the  Burke  family,  who  would  be  leaving  next  morning  at  an 
unearthly  hour  in  order  to  get  the  earliest  train  to  Boston. 
To  Steve's  expressions  of  astonishment  and  regret,  he  op- 
posed a  wooden  countenance  and  the  laconic  reminder  that 
they  were  army  folks. 

"  Oh,  Major  Burke  got  orders,  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  s'pose  he  did,"  echoed  the  captain,  nasally.  "  Any- 
ways they're  packing  up."  As  Steven  made  ready  to  go  on, 
he  added  superfluously;  "Mr.  Rudd's  upstairs.  Want  I 
should  call  him?  " 

"  Why,  no,  thanks.  I'll  —  I'll  be  back  directly,"  said 
Steven  embarrassed  and  annoyed  and  avoiding  Cap'n  Eben's 
remote  yet  penetrating  gaze. 

*'  Wouldn't  wonder  if  he'd  be  leaving  pretty  soon,  too,"  the 
latter  remarked.  "  Not  the  same  time  the  others  do,  though. 
There's  a  boat  from  the  Harbor  at  two  this  aft'noon." 

Steven  did  not  know  whether  this  meant  that  Eugene  had 
been  invited  to  go,  or  not;  it  made  very  little  difference,  the 
young  man  thought  sourly,  the  point  was  that  he  was  going 
and  that  it  would  be  a  relief.  One  such  experience  as  they 
had  had  with  him  was  one  too  many.  "  Well,  I'll  be  back 
after  a  while,"  he  reiterated,  and  drove  off,  leaving  that  an- 
cient mariner,  Cap'n  Eben,  standing  at  the  little  white  picket 
fence  among  the  festoons  of  frost-nipped  bitter-sweet,  look- 
ing after  him  and  stroking  his  goatee  with  a  dry  smile. 

The  Burkes  were  too  thoroughly  seasoned  campaigners  to 
make  much  of  any  move  even  as  unpremeditated  as  this,  so 
that  Steven  found  them  in  no  confusion,  spite  of  the  open 
trunks  and  stacks  of  clothing,  spite  even  of  the  corded 
bundles  of  the  late  general's  biography  with  which  Frances 

114 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  115 

and  Mary  were  laboring  energetically.  Both  girls  gave  him 
an  absently  amiable  welcome  and  kept  on  with  their  work,  in 
contrast  to  Jack,  who  threw  open  the  window  upon  hearing 
Steven's  car,  bellowing  out  that  Fort  Whipple  was  their 
ultimate  destination. 

" '  With  me  bundle  on  me  shoulther 
Sure  nobody  could  be  boulder 
An'  Fm  off  for  Arizony  in  th'  mar-r-nin'! ' " 

chanted  Jack  blithely,  abandoning  his  stevedore  duties  to 
execute  half  a  dozen  jig-steps  in  time  to  the  melody,  with 
brilliant  precision.  "  Arizona,  that's  where  it  is  —  darkest 
Arizona.    Don't  even  know  how  to  get  there!  "  he  said. 

"  Well,  you  don't  have  to  get  there,  do  you?  "  said  Steve, 
finding  a  seat  on  the  window-sill ;  and  Jack  looked  sober  for 
an  instant. 

"  No.  I've  got  to  go  back  to  Uncle  Jim's  office  and  get 
busy  with  the  Revised  Statutes  of  the  State  of  Ohio,  or  some 
such  light  literature,"  said  he.  "  Makes  me  feel  kind  of 
lonesome.  Francie  will  be  in  New  York  all  winter  at  her 
decorating  joint.  The  Burke  family  is  going  to  be  all  split 
up  in  little  splinters." 

''  You'll  be  at  uncle's,  and  I'm  coming  out  Christmas, 
Jackie,"  Frances  called  out.    "  This  is  ready  to  nail  up  now." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  leave  it  open  till  you  get  those  other 
things?  "  Mary  began  to  say,  looking  up  from  a  convenient 
attitude  on  her  knees  and  heels  beside  the  box;  she  inter- 
rupted herself,  flushing  as  her  eyes  encountered  Steve's. 

*'  Oh,  that's  so!  "  Frances  stood  a  moment,  pondering,  until 
Jack's  brisk  advance  with  the  hammer  and  nails  apparently 
forced  her  into  a  decision.  "  Never  mind  them.  It's  all  fixed 
so  nicely,  and  we  couldn't  get  all  that  extra  junk  in  anyhow. 
Go  ahead,  Jack,"  she  commanded;  and  to  Steven:  ''Would 
you  mind  doing  something  for  me?  That  old  diary  —  don't 
you  remember?  A  great  piling  lot  of  books  like  exercise- 
books  that  that  old  gentleman,  Doctor  Vardaman,  Grandpa's 
friend,  had  written  —  ?  " 

A  terrific  fusillade  of  blows  from  Jack  on  the  lid  of  the 
packing-box  intervened;  he  and  Mary  were  laughing,  kneel- 
ing together  over  it. 


116  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"Doctor  Vardaman's?  Yes,  I  remember!  "  cried  Steven 
above  the  racket.  "  What  about  it?  There  were  some  let- 
ters, too,  weren't  there?  " 

More  hammering  resounded ;  everybody  was  laughing  and 
shouting  by  this  time,  and  Francie  shrieked  in  her  turn: 
"  Yes !  Mr.  Rudd  has  all  of  it,  the  whole  business.  He  took 
them  to  read  over  for  me.  We  all  thought  there  was  plenty 
of  time  —  and  now  we've  got  to  go  off  all  of  a  sudden.  Could 
you  get  them  from  him?  " 

Jack's  pounding  subsided  abruptly,  perhaps  by  accident, 
and  he  said  without  looking  up,  as  he  set  another  nail,  and 
aimed  at  it:  "  Mr.  Rudd's  been  sick  in  his  room  for  a  day 
or  so,  so  he  doesn't  know  about  our  going  yet,  and  we  don't 
exactly  like  to  disturb  him.  But  I  don't  suppose  he'd  mind 
if  you —  ?  " 

"  All  right!    I'll  do  it  now,"  said  Steve,  seizing  his  hat. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  right  now  —  any  time  will  do,  any 
time!  He  could  express  them  to  me  for  that  matter.  It's 
only  that  I  oughtn't  to  leave  them  lying  around  —  I  mean 
I  don't  want  to  burden  him  with  the  care —  "  Francie  began 
to  explain  anxiously,  but  Steve  had  already  reached  the 
door.  And  from  that  day  to  this  he  has  never  known  just 
how  much  the  Burkes  knew  of  the  late  calamitous  episode, 
or  of  the  part  Mary  and  he  had  taken  at  the  close  of  it.  This 
was  getting  back  to  Cap'n  Eben's  in  a  little  while,  sure 
enough,  he  thought  with  a  smile;  but  there  was  no  immedi- 
ate prospect  of  seeing  Mary  by  herself,  and  he  might  as  well 
get  this  miserable  quarter  of  an  hour  —  for  it  was  bound  to 
be  miserable  —  with  Eugene  over;  not  improbably,  it  would 
be  their  last. 

He  went  up  the  narrow  steps,  and  knocked,  and  after  a 
moment,  Eugene's  voice,  which  had  the  quality  not  to  be 
described  yet  always  recognizable  of  the  drinking  man's 
voice,  and  this  time  sounded  no  worse  than  usual,  bade  him 
come  in.  The  other  was  standing  at  the  little  mirror,  shaving, 
with  his  back  to  the  door,  but  as  Steven  entered  turned 
about,  looking  bloodshot  and  haggard  and  unkempt,  with  the 
grizzling  stubble  pricking  out  on  his  chin,  with  his  torn 
undershirt,  with  his  suspenders  trailing  and  the  soiled  old 
trousers  wrinkling  down  around  his  hips,  with  the  razor  in 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  117 

one  hand  and  a  rag  of  newspaper  flecked  with  dabs  of  gray- 
ish lather  where  he  had  been  wiping  it,  in  the  other.  They 
stood  looking  at  each  other  a  second;  then  Eugene  said  in 
his  natural  manner  without  either  shame  or  bravado. 
"  Hello!  Shut  the  door,  will  you?  It  makes  a  pretty  sharp 
draught  through  here,  if  you  leave  it  open." 

"  Oh,  all  right!  "  said  Steven,  lamely  echoing  him;  he  shut 
the  door  with  an  excess  of  carefulness,  prolonging  the  action 
so  as  to  put  off  looking  at  Eugene  again,  put  off  speaking  to 
him,  if  only  for  an  instant.  The  sensitive  young  fellow 
writhed  in  spirit  to  see  this  man  for  whom  he  still  could  not 
curb  his  liking,  thus  dirty  and  disordered,  emerging  from  a 
drunken  spree  in  a  kennel  of  a  room  that  smelled  obscenely. 
Why  couldn't  Eugene  be  always  decent  and  manly,  he  who 
had  in  him  so  many  of  the  elements  of  decency  and  man- 
liness ! 

Eugene  went  on  with  his  shaving.  "  Sit  down,  sit  down," 
he  said,  over  his  shoulder.  "  Just  tumble  anything  that's  in 
the  way  onto  the  floor.    The  place  is  all  upset  anyhow." 

Steven  dumbly  went  and  sat  down  on  the  abhorrent  bed. 
In  the  middle  of  the  floor,  Eugene's  battered  valise  was 
spread  open,  with  books  and  some  clothing  piled  half  in  and 
half  out  —  two  or  three  of  those  frayed  collars,  a  shirt,  a 
string-tie  most  distressingly  stringy;  the  coat  of  his  blue 
serge  business-suit  —  he  did  not  appear  to  own  any  other  — 
was  carefully  adjusted  over  the  rounding  back  of  the  chair, 
with  a  stubbed  whisk-broom  near  at  hand,  which  he  had  prob- 
ably been  exercising  upon  its  greasily  refulgent  surfaces, 
across  the  shoulders  and  elsewhere.  There  were  also  laid  out 
a  pair  of  tan  shoes  recently  half-soled,  together  with  a  round 
tin  box  of  somebody's  Marvelline  Shoe  Paste.  Evidently  it 
was  as  Cap'n  Eben  had  reported;  this  Arab  was  about  to 
fold  his  tent  and  depart.  The  sight  of  his  poor  wardrobe, 
his  poor  efforts  to  furbish  it  up,  suddenly  became  to  Steven 
poignantly  pitiful.  He  stared  at  the  things  with  aching 
eyes;  how  lonely  Eugene  w^as,  he  thought  with  a  pang,  how 
un-cared-for!  Very  likely  he  had  nobody  but  himself  to 
thank  for  it;  very  likely  it  was  all  his  own  fault;  but  still  — I 
His  old  slouched  hat,  its  original  blackness  weathered  to  a 
melancholy  green  where  it  was  not  defaced  with  all  sorts  of 


118  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

stains  and  blotches,  lay  on  top  of  a  square  bundle  of  marble- 
backed  books  which  Steven  might  have  recognized  for  the 
Vardaman  manuscript,  but  he  had  clean  forgotten  his  errand. 

The  other  looked  around  from  stropping  his  razor,  and 
following  Steven's  gloomy  stare,  said:  "  I'm  packing  up. 
Going  this  afternoon." 

''  I  know.  Captain  Howe  told  me,"  said  Steve,  trymg  to 
speak  as  casually.    ''  Can  I  do  anything  to  help  you?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  if  you  don't  mind.  I've  got  some  of  that  stuff 
they  clean  up  tan  shoes  with,  but  I  don't  know  how  to  use  it. 
I  don't  seem  to  make  mine  look  any  better.  Have  you  any 
idea  how?    If  you'll  just  show  me  —  ?  " 

"  Sure !  Yes !  I  know  how.  I've  often  used  it  —  or  some- 
thing on  the  same  order.  All  those  preparations  are  a  good 
deal  alike,"  said  Steve,  voluble,  in  a  queer  relief  at  having 
something  to  do,  something  commonplace  to  make  talk. 
''  Here,  let  me!  I'll  fix  them  for  you."  He  fell  to  on  this 
plebeian  task  enthusiastically.  He  had  come  filled  with  the 
inexpressibly  repugnant  expectation  that  he  would  be 
obliged,  perforce,  to  deliver  some  sort  of  admonition,  re- 
proof. Heaven  knew  what;  that  there  would  be  a  petty 
scene;  Eugene  would  attempt  feeble  and  futile  explanations, 
or  he  would  be  abjectly  apologetic,  or  perhaps  merely  sullen 
and  unapproachable.  Instead,  here  he  was  polishing  away 
at  Eugene's  boots!  And  here  was  Eugene  himself  undis- 
turbed by  vain  regrets,  or  recognizing  no  reason  why  he 
should  burden  Steven  with  them,  methodically  scraping  his 
chin,  as  if  he  had  never  done  anything  to  be  ashamed  of  in 
his  life !  At  the  moment  he  uttered  a  mild  expletive,  arrest- 
ing the  razor. 

''  Cut  yourself?  "  said  Steven. 

"  Yeah.  There's  a  kind  of  a  set-off,  you  know,  under 
your  chin  where  it  joins  the  rest  of  you.  Hard  place  to 
get  at." 

"  I  should  think  you'd  use  a  safety." 

''  I  do  as  a  general  thing.  But  when  I'm  getting  over  a 
time  like  the  other  night,  you  know,  I  always  have  a  try  with 
the  regular  razor  to  find  out  how  steady  my  hand  is,  the  first 
thing  I  do.  It's  a  kind  of  a  gauge,"  said  Eugene  with  an 
absolutely  defeating  simple  openness;  it  was  the  more  de- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  119 

feating  because  though  there  was  nothing  showy  or  arti- 
ficial about  it,  it  conveyed  the  certainty  that  with  his 
habitual  facility  he  guessed  exactly  at  Steven's  thought, 
and  with  his  habitual  consideration  was  trying  to  make  the 
situation  easier  for  him. 

Steven,  at  any  rate,  all  at  once  found  himself  capable  of 
saying  without  being  offensive  either  in  his  own  eyes,  or  to 
the  other:  ''  Oh,  why  don't  you  cut  it  out,  Eugene?  The 
booze,  you  know.    Why  don't  you  cut  it  out?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to.    I  like  it,"  said  Eugene  tranquilly. 

"  You  could  stop  if  you  tried." 

"  Perhaps.  But  I'm  not  going  to  try.  Never  mind  talk- 
ing to  me,  Steve.  I  know  you  came  here  thinking  vou'd 
have  to.  That's  a  measly  job;  a  person's  always  afraid  he'll 
be  putting  on  a  holier-than-thou  pose,  and  being  insupport- 
able, whereas  in  reality  he's  only  trying  to  get  through  with 
a  disagreeable  duty  the  best  he  can,"^said  Eugene,  and  smiled 
to  see  the  species  of  thankful  discomfiture  visible  on  Steven's 
face.  "  You  hated  it,  didn't  you?  "  said  Eugene;  "  well,  now 
you've  done  it,  and  it's  over  with!  " 

In  effect,  it  was  over  with;  there  seemed  to  be  nothing 
further  to  say  —  or  Steven  could  think  of  nothing  further! 
Somehow  he  could  not  preach  penitence  and  reform  to  a 
sinner  who  seemed  to  divine  in  advance  every  thought  in  his 
head,  and  to  surpass  him  in  sympathy  and  good  feeling. 
He  was  glad  enough  to  abandon  the  effort,  to  keep  on  rub- 
bing at  the  tan  shoes  which  he  presently  brought  to  a  superb 
condition  of  color  and  polish,  while  they  talked  compan- 
ionably  about  indifferent  things.  He  took  down  Eugene's 
New  York  address  on  one  of  the  high-numbered  streets 
towards  the  east  side  of  the  city.  ''  It's  a  tenement-house, 
but  a  model  one,  mind  you!  "  Eugene  assured  him,  laugh- 
ing. ''  The  buildings  were  put  up  by  the  Astorbilt  Estate 
especially  for  the  housing  of  the  poor  but  virtuous.  We're 
all  stone,  fireproof,  with  a  courtyard  for  the  sake  of  light 
and  air  in  the  middle  of  us,  and  a  flat  roof  where  we  can 
hang  the  wash  and  also  go  up  and  sit  hot  nights  and  look  at 
the  river  and  the  shipping  and  the  stars.  I'm  on  the  first 
floor  —  not  so  desirable  as  those  higher  up,  but  one  has  one's 
reasons — "  he  shrugged.     ''A  policeman  from  the  traffic 


120  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

squad  on  Lower  Broadway  has  the  apartment  across  the 
landing  from  me.  Mrs.  Macarty  makes  the  most  heavenly 
doughnuts.  Come  and  see  me  some  time  when  you're  in 
town."  Steve  promised  that  he  would,  and  they  parted 
good  friends. 

He  remembered  Doctor  Vardaman's  diary  at  the  last,  and 
coming  downstairs  with  the  parcel  under  his  arm,  encoun- 
tered Mary.  Mrs.  Burke  had  sent  her  home  — ''  Canned 
me,"  Mary  said  with  a  laugh.  "  She  insisted  that  I  was  all 
tired  out,  "but  I'm  not.  I  never  get  tired."  Notwithstanding 
which  disavowal  she  did  look  a  little  pale,  a  little  weary,  in 
an  old  gray  silk  jersey  suit  of  Miss  Stillman's  which  was  not 
becoming  to  her  colors  and  fitted  too  tight  across  her  round 
little  bust;  but  a  bright  spot  of  red  came  up  in  either  cheek 
as  the  young  man  looked  at  her.  "  I  came  away,  though. 
I  thought  perhaps  they'd  had  enough  of  me,  and  would  like 
to  be  to  themselves  for  a  while,"  she  added  hurriedly. 

"  Then  maybe  I'd  better  not  go  back  there  just  now,"  said 
Steven  with  a  promptness  which  visibly  took  Mary  aback 
for  no  reason  at  all;  she  began  to  stammer  some  remon- 
strance which  he  did  not  heed.  He  opened  the  door  into 
the  frigid  gloom  of  the  Howe  parlor,  illuminated  by  furtive 
gleams  from  the  nickel-plated  trimmings  of  the  stove,  and 
deposited  his  bundle  of  books  on  the  horsehair  sofa  under 
two  vigilant  crayon  portraits  of  defunct  Howes.  "  Let's  go 
and  walk  somewhere,"  he  said;  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

She  lingered  an  instant,  something  in  her  attitude  betray- 
ing a  desperate  indecision  that  yielded  suddenly  to  a  des- 
perate decision.  "All  right!  "  she  said  briefly,  and  struck 
into  step  by  his  side.  They  walked  along  in  silence  past  the 
lines  of  whitewashed  palings,  and  the  dooryards  with  their 
ravaged  flower-beds,  past  the  bleak  church,  which  neverthe- 
less possessed  a  wooden  belfry  designed  in  lines  of  admirable 
quaint  stateliness  by  some  New  England  Cliristopher  Wren 
a  century  ago,  past  a  bit  of  stony  common  where  the  school- 
children were  riotously  flying  kites  in  the  noon  recess,  and  so 
on  up  to  a  jut  of  headland  overlooking  the  bay.  "  Let's  sit 
down  here,"  Steven  said,  speaking  for  almost  the  first  time 
since  they  started. 

"  All  right!  "  said  Mary  again;  and  down  they  sat  forth- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  121 

with  on  a  fallen  log  from  behind  which  a  squirrel  or  some 
other  small  animal  scurried  off  with  a  prodigious  disturbance 
of  dried  leaves,  upon  their  approach.  They  sat  side  by  side, 
but  in  a  prosaic  enough  posture,  with  their  hands  in  their 
pockets,  for  the  wind  blew  cold,  though  there  was  a  strong, 
clear  sunshine. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you,  Mary  —  about  the 
other  night,  you  know,"  said  Steven  abruptly.  "  I  don't 
know  whether  I  ought  to  say  anything  at  all.  It  was  hor- 
rible, and  I  can't  get  rid  of  the  idea  that  I'm  somehow 
responsible  for  him  because  he  belongs  to  my  family  —  he's 
another  Rudd." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  nonsense,  you  don't  need  to  feel  anything 
of  the  kind.    You  couldn't  help  it." 

"  If  it  had  been  somebody  else,  some  other  man,  I  wouldn't 
mind  so  much.  He  doesn't  seem  to  care  a  great  deal  him- 
self.   That's  ironic !  " 

"  Why,  he  doesn't  know  about  me?  "  asked  the  girl.  "  I 
thought  he  was  too  drunk  to  notice  or  to  remember  any- 
thing." 

Steven  glanced  at  her,  startled,  recoiling  inwardly.  There 
was  something  indefinably  repellent  to  him  in  her  placid  and 
literal  reference  to  the  ugly  facts.  No  girl  ought  to  know 
anything  about  such  things  —  or,  at  least,  he  thought  con- 
fusedly, no  girl  ought  to  talk  about  them  in  this  familiar 
tone.  ''  I  don't  know  how  much  he  remembers.  I  didn't 
say  anything  about  you,"  he  told  her. 

''  Of  course  not,"  said  Mary,  nodding  her  head  wisely, 
again  with  that  appalling  manner  of  experience.  "  It 
wouldn't  have  been  any  use.  And  after  all,  he  wasn't  so 
very  bad." 

"  Mary,  for  Heaven's  sake  —  !  Anybody  would  think 
you'd  been  handling  drunks  all  your  life!  "  the  young  man 
burst  out,  in  actual  distress.  "A  girl  like  you!  It's  ter- 
rible !  You're  only  putting  on  that  air  to  save  my  feelings, 
I  suppose,  but  —  " 

''Why,  no,  I'm  not,  Steven!  I'm  not  putting  on  any- 
thing! "  she  protested,  in  obviously  genuine  surprise,  which, 
the  next  instant,  gave  place  to  some  impossible  mixture  of 
resentment  and  resignation.     "  It's  you  who  are  trying  to 


122  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

smooth  things  over  on  my  account  —  and  Mother's,"  she 
said  quickly  in  a  sharpened  voice.  "  You  needn't,  Steve.  I 
know  you  mean  well,  pretending  to  be  so  shocked,  but  you 
oughtn't  to  have  said  that  about  '  handling  drunks.'  That 
gives  you  away;  you're  overdoing  it.  Men  oughtn't  to  try 
that  sort  of  thing;  they  aren't  good  at  pretending.  You 
ought  to  take  some  lessons  of  Mother  —  or  of  me.  Only 
here  lately  I'm  beginning  to  get  tired  of  the  pretending  busi- 
ness, myself.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  being  honest  were  better 
in  the  long  run.  A  person  feels  more  comfortable."  And 
here  the  complete  blankness  of  Steven's  face  arrested  her; 
gradually  blankness  overspread  her  own.  ''  Why,  Steve, 
why  —  you  didn't  know?  You  weren't  pretending  at  all? 
You  really  didn't  knowf  "  she  cried  out,  incomprehensibly. 

''  I  don't  know  anything,  I  think.  I  don't  seem  to  have  an 
atom  of  sense.  I  didn't  mean  to  pain  you,  but  I've  done  it 
somehow,  I  can  see  that,"  said  the  young  fellow. 

Mary  slowly  withdrew  her  gaze,  fastening  it  on  the  hori- 
zon. ''  I  thought  everybody  knew,"  she  said.  "  I  thought 
you  were  just  clumsily  trying  to  be  nice  to  me.  Because  of 
my  father,  of  course.  I  thought  you  were  pretending  you 
didn't  know  about  him;  it  seemed  to  be  one  of  those  kind- 
nesses that  are  really  unkind.  Are  you  sure  that  you  never 
heard  about  my  father,  Steve?  " 

Steven  shook  his  head,  staring  at  her. 

*'  I  thought  everybody  knew,"  Mary  said  again.  She  bent 
down  and  gathered  a  handful  of  pebbles  and  began  to  fling 
them,  one  by  one,  at  a  tablet-like  slab  of  rock  about  thirty 
feet  off  across  the  road,  with  an  expert  eye  and  motion.  "  He 
used  to  drink,"  said  Mary,  deliberately  aiming  and  taking 
a  shot.  "  Drank  up  all  Mother's  money,  and  all  his  own 
prospects  and  everything.  Drank  himself  into  his  grave  at 
last,  which  was  a  good  thing  —  the  only  good  thing  he  ever 
did.  Don't  be  horrified,  Steve.  It's  the  truth.  I'm  tired  of 
pretending." 

She  went  on  tossing  pebbles,  and  telling  Steven  the  simple, 
wretched  tale.  She  had  begun  to  know  about  the  late 
Ballard's  failing  when  she  was  ten  or  eleven  years  old;  her 
mother  had  tried  to  keep  it  from  her,  but  the  little  girl  waked 
up  at  night  when  her  father  came  home.    "  I  used  to  go  down 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  123 

and  help  Mother  get  him  upstairs  and  put  him  to  bed.  After- 
wards he  would  be  sick,  of  course,"  said  Mary,  without 
visible  feeling.  ''  Mother  had  to  have  somebody  help  her. 
The  servants  never  stayed  after  they  found  out.  Mother 
and  I  had  to  stay;  we  had  to  take  care  of  him.  And  Mother 
still  loved  him,  in  a  way,  I  suppose;  I  didn't.  But  I  never 
said  anything  about  him;  she  had  me  too  well  trained  for 
that.  It  got  to  be  pretty  bad,  after  a  while,  because  there 
wasn't  any  money.  We  were  put  out  of  places  —  oh,  I  don't 
mean  they  got  the  police  and  had  all  our  things  stacked  on 
the  sidewalk,  like  slum-people,  you  know.  But  we  had  to 
get  out  just  the  same.  Then  Uncle  John  or  somebody  in 
Mother's  family  —  they've  all  got  lots  of  money,  luckily  — 
would  come  to  the  rescue  and  pay  the  bills  and  start  us  fresh 
once  more.  Father  would  go  straight  for  a  little,  and 
then —  "  Mary  delivered  the  final  pebble,  hitting  her  target 
squarely  in  the  middle  —  "  then:  same  thing  all  over  again!" 

When  the  girl  was  about  fourteen,  Mrs.  Ballard,  by  writ- 
ing begging  letters  to  Mr.  Stillman,  to  the  Van  Huysen  con- 
nection, to  other  Ballards,  even  to  old  friends  of  her 
husband's  at  the  Bar,  who  had  been  obliged  to  drop  him 
because  of  his  habits,  by  staving  off  tradespeople's  bills,  by 
selling  treasured  heirlooms,  by  every  kind  of  unhappy  expe- 
dient for  scraping  money  together,  had  contrived  to  send 
her  off^  to  school.  It  was  the  same  story;  Mary  travelled 
from  pillar  to  post,  as  their  miserable  exchequer  emptied  and 
was  replenished.  She  had  not  been  taught  anything  at  all, 
let  alone  anything  useful,  at  these  institutions  of  learning. 
''  They  were  just  fashionable  schools,  you  know,"  she  said 
contemptuously.  "  Mother  thought  she  was  doing  the  only 
thing  possible  for  a  girl  of  my  family  and  position.  Family 
and  position!  Then  Father  died.  That  was  five  years  ago, 
and  ever  since  we've  been  keeping  up  that  same  old  stunt  of 
family  and  position.  We're  nothing  but  a  pair  of  ladylike 
crooks,  the  two  of  us,  going  around  and  living  off  of  our 
relatives,  or  off  of  anybody  for  that  matter,  and  licking 
people's  boots,  and  putting  up  a  front,  and  —  and  trying  to 
get  me  married  off  to  some  man  with  money  —  " 

"  Mary!  "  cried  the  young  man  in  command  and  entreaty 
at  once.    Everything  she  had  said  confirmed  certain  of  his 


124  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

suspicions;  but  he  shrank  from  any  more  revelations.  Some- 
how the}'  liad  the  effect,  not  of  debasing  Mary,  but  of  turn- 
ing an  unbecoming  light  on  their  whole  world  with  its  incred- 
ibly cheap  and  incredibly  costly  labors,  diversions,  aims, 
standards.  And,  Good  God,  he  tliought,  that  nice  women, 
that  decent  men  should  be  willing  to  bargain  their  pride  and 
honesty  and  the  inestimable  treasure  of  time,  the  irrevocable 
years,  for  these  things  which  he  had  had  all  his  life  — 
money,  ease,  social  prominence!  But  how  if  he  had  not  had 
them?  Might  not  he,  Steven  Rudd,  have  done  a  little  of  the 
same  ignoble  trading?  He  knew  his  mother  would,  Hester 
would,  without  a  qualm.  "  Don't  talk  this  way !  Don't  run 
yourself  down  this  way!  You  —  you've  got  some  exagger- 
ated notions  —  " 

"  I  should  think  I've  told  you  enough  to  show  that  I've 
got  a  truer  notion  about  some  things  than  you  have,  Steve !  " 
she  interrupted.  "  I  ought  to  have,  goodness  knows!  I  sup- 
pose at  college  and  maybe  other  places  you've  sometimes 
helped  to  put  a  drunken  man  to  bed  —  swearing  and  calling 
you  names,  or  maudlin  and  slobbering,  or  just  stupid  like  a 
log  —  I  suppose  you've  done  that  sometimes.  Well,  my 
mother  did  it  at  least  once  a  week  for  years  —  and  dressed 
herself  and  went  out  to  teas  and  things  the  next  day  and 
made  believe  nothing  was  the  matter.  And  so  have  I.  I've 
done  that,  too,  over  and  over  again.  Did  you  ever  run 
up  a  big  bill  at  the  tailor's,  all  the  while  not  knowing  where 
your  next  cent  was  to  come  from?  Did  you  ever  have  him 
tell  you  he  couldn't  give  you  any  more  credit?  Did  you 
ever  have  to  take  people's  old  worn-out  satin  slippers  and 
pretend  to  be  delighted?  Have  you  ever  laughed  at  insults 
and  made  believe  you  thought  they  were  jokes?  Did  you 
ever  sell  a  lot  of  nasty  stories  to  the  editor  of  a  rotten  little 
society  paper  about  people  that  had  had  you  in  their  houses 
and  been  kind  to  you,  just  because  you  had  to  have  money? 
Well,  I  have.  I  tell  you,  Steve  Rudd,  I  know  more  about 
living  in  a  minute  than  you  do  in  a  year,  if  you  are  a  man!  " 

A  silence  ensued  upon  this  fierce  outburst,  Steve  sitting 
and  gazing  at  the  girl,  scarcely  able  to  believe  his  own  ears. 
Mary  was  twenty-two,  but  looked  younger  with  her  big, 
innocently  trustful  brown  eyes,  and  round  face  and  dimples, 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  125 

and  bright  curling  hair  which  had  never  grown  very  long;  in 
a  short  dress  and  pinafore  she  might  have  passed  for  a  child. 
Mrs.  Ballard  was  the  very  figure  of  the  grande  dame,  ele- 
gant, reposeful,  witty.  To  behold  them,  even  to  know  them 
intimately,  nobody  would  imagine  that  either  one  had  ever 
had  a  care  in  her  life.  That  they  could  have  endured,  be  still 
enduring  these  sordidly  tragic  experiences  moved  him  to 
groundless  denunciations  of  the  whole  social  fabric — ground- 
less, Steve  realized  in  a  succeeding  wave  of  common-sense; 
for  there  was  no  compulsion  upon  the  Ballard  women  to  live 
thus.  If  they  would  cling  desperately  to  the  skirts  of  Society 
they  must  expect  and  submit  to  be  occasionally  trailed  in 
the  mud. 

Mary  spoke  again,  unconsciously  retorting  upon  him. 
"  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  end  the  whole  disgusting  sham. 
I'm  going  to  work,  if  it's  nothing  but  scrubbing  floors,"  she 
said. 

The  moment  and  her  mood  were  not  markedly  propitious, 
but  Steven  nevertheless  spoke  out.  "  Look  here,  Mary,"  he 
said.  "  I've  —  I've  hated  to  have  you  tell  me  all  this.  I  knew 
before  that  you  and  your  mother  were  —  were  in  a  —  a 
pretty  hard  position —  " 

"  Why,  of  course!  Everybody  knew  it.  I  daresay  Mother 
and  I  have  furnished  a  lot  of  fun  in  our  time,"  said  Mary. 
"  Oh,  I  don't  think  you'd  laugh  at  us  behind  our  backs, 
Steve.  But  it  wouldn't  have  been  any  harm  if  you  had. 
We've  earned  it." 

He  put  her  words  aside  with  a  gesture  almost  angry.  "  Oh, 
stop!  You've  brooded  over  the  whole  business  until  you've 
got  yourself  all  worked  up,  and  now  you're  making  yourself 
out  to  be  dreadful  and  to  have  done  all  sorts  of  dreadful 
things,  when  in  reality  you've  only  acted  as  nine  women  out 
of  ten  would  have  acted  in  the  same  circumstances.  I  hate 
to  hear  you  talk  that  way.  And  anyhow  I  didn't  get  you  to 
come  here  with  me  to-day  to  —  to  talk  like  this,"  said 
Steven,  beginning  all  at  once  to  his  own  private  astonishment 
and  vexation,  to  be  rather  red  and  flustered  and  incoherent. 
"I  —  I  wanted  to  tell  you  —  I  want  to  ask  you  —  " 

She  got  to  her  feet  with  a  movement  of  panic.  "  Don't 
say  it,  Steven,  don't !    I  don't  want  you  to !    Please,  Steven!" 


126  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  But  I  must.    I  —  why,  Mary,  I  —  I  love  you  —  " 

"  No,  you  don't!  "  said  the  girl,  maintaining  her  com- 
posure by  a  strong  effort.  "  You're  just  sorry  for  me.  Wait 
a  minute !  Listen  to  me !  I  —  I  hoped  I  wouldn't  have  to 
tell  you  —  yes,  I  did  hope  you  wouldn't  do  anything  like 
this,  because  then  I'd  have  to  tell  you  —  and  I  didn't  want 
to.  But  it  can't  be  helped  now.  Steve,  it  was  all  a  —  a 
frame-up,"  said  poor  Mary,  her  earnestness  investing  the 
grotesque  phrase  with  something  like  dignity.  "  You  were 
one  of  the  men  I  was  trying  to  catch.  You're  considered  a 
good  match,  you  know.  Mother  and  I  wouldn't  have  to 
worry  any  more  if  I  could  get  you.  Steve,  it's  horrid,  but 
it's  the  truth.  Mother  —  well,  she  didn't  exactly  tell  me  how 
to  act.  We  never  talked  about  it  right  out  plain  to  each 
other,  but  —  I  can't  explain  to  you  —  any  woman  would  un- 
derstand —  somehow  I  got  an  idea  just  what  sort  of  things 
you'd  —  you'd  fall  for.  And  you  can't  blame  Mother,  Steve, 
she  didn't  want  to  see  me  make  a  mess  of  my  life  the  way 
she  had  of  her  own;  she  only  wanted  to  see  me  all  settled  and 
right  and  out  of  danger.  And  besides  it  wasn't  all  her  doing ; 
I  —  I  tried  myself.  I  —  I  thought  of  things  that  —  that 
would  work  on  you.  But,  Steve,  I  hated  it  all  along.  I  hated 
to  trap  you.  Steve,  you  believe  me,  don't  you?  "  She  was 
not  crying,  but  there  was  anguish  in  her  voice,  in  her  face. 

"  Well,  but,  Mary,  you  do  like  me  a  little  —  ?  "  began  the 
bewildered  young  man. 

"  That's  just  the  reason  —  that's  just  it!  It  wouldn't  be 
right  for  me  to  —  to  marry  you  even  if  I — I  loved  you," 
said  Mary,  with  force.  The  subtleties  of  this  argument 
were  beyond  Steve;  he  stood  helpless  while  she  went  on: 
"  Because  you're  only  asking  me  out  of  pity.  I  played  that 
part  of  the  mean  game  too  well.  I  can't  go  on  with  it  now; 
all  at  once  I  found  out  I  just  couldn't  go  on  with  it.  I'm 
done! "  said  Mary,  gesticulating  violently.  "  I  was  begin- 
ning to  see  things  differently,  anyhow;  and  ever  since  we've 
been  here  with  those  nice  people,  those  Burkes  —  !  They 
don't  care  a  thing  in  the  world  about  everything  we've  al- 
ways thought  so  important;  and  they  aren't  queer,  or  funny, 
either.  Mother  and  I  can  be  just  like  that,  if  we  choose.  So 
you  see  how  it  is,  Steve.    I  can't  marry  you." 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  127 

Steven  did  not  at  all  see  how  it  was;  he  grasped  at  the 
only  clue  in  sight.  "  Is  it  Jack  Burke?  Is  it  because  of 
him?"  he  asked;  and  caught  himself  quickly,  ashamed. 
"  No,  no,  I  had  no  business  to  ask  you  that.    Forgive  me !  " 

Mary,  however,  first  looked  amazed,  and  then  actually 
smiled.  '^  Jack  Burke?  Goodness,  no!  There  isn't  any- 
body.   I  like  you  better  than  any  man  I  know." 

And  with,  that  he  had  to  be  content.  Perhaps  the  young 
man  had  not  looked  very  deeply  into  his  own  heart  before 
making  his  proposal;  perhaps  indeed  he  unconsciously 
avoided  looking.  But  the  fact  is,  that  as  he  climbed  into  his 
car  and  drove  off  in  grim  solitude,  Steven  was  beginning  to 
be  much  more  in  love  than  when  he  embarked  on  this  busi- 
ness! 

Miss  Ballard,  meanwhile,  went  back  to  the  boarding- 
house,  to  her  mother  sitting  haggard  and  watchful,  in  their 
dreary  room.  She  looked  up  as  Mary  came  in,  disciplining 
her  face  to  that  gracious  interest  which  was  the  strongest 
feeling  she  ever  allowed  it  to  display  in  public ;  as  a  matter 
of  principle  she  seldom  relaxed  even  in  private,  and  it  may 
have  been  somewhat  easier  than  ordinary  to  preserve  on  this 
occasion,  for  Mrs.  Ballard  was  not  without  some  by  no 
.neans  unpleasant  expectations.    '^  Well?  "  she  said  lightly. 

"  1  was  out  wdth  Steve  Rudd,"  said  Mary,  taking  off  her 
coat. 

"  Yes?  " 

''  He  asked  me  to  marry  him,  and  I  told  him  no." 

"  Mary !    You  —  you  —  ?  " 

"  1  said  I  wouldn't.  I  refused  him,"  said  Mary.  Illogical 
remorse  smote  her  at  sight  of  her  mother's  features  wrecked 
with  disappointment,  for  once  open,  for  once  uncontrolled. 
She  ran  to  her  and  put  her  arms  around  her,  half  crying  her- 
self. "  Never  mind.  Mother,  never  mind.  I'll  find  some- 
thing to  do;  I'll  take  care  of  both  of  us.  That  will  be  ever 
so  much  better  than  the  other  w^ay.  I  just  couldn't  take 
advantage  of  him  that  way;  Steve's  too  nice.  Never  mind! 
I'll  get  something  to  do,  and  take  care  of  both  of  us." 

The  other  poor  woman  settled  down  in  the  chair  with  a 
sob  of  defeat  and  despair.  ''  Oh,  I'm  so  tired  of  this  life  — 
so  tired,  so  tired!  " 


PART   II 

CHAPTER  I 

MISS  Hester  Rudd's  wedding  took  place  at  Easter, 
attended  by  sundry  pomps  and  ceremonies  which 
her  sister  Edith's  had  emphatically  lacked.  The 
event  was  "  featured "  with  photographs  and  vivacious 
morsels  of  description  in  all  the  most  conspicuously  smart 
of  the  smart  journals  that  give  space  to  this  species  of  news. 
There  was  a  picture  of  the  bride  and  her  maids;  another  of 
the  bride  alone,  standing  in  profile  at  the  top  of  a  flight  of 
stairs,  with  her  eyes  cast  down  under  a  magnificent  lace  veil, 
and  at  least  six  feet  of  silver  brocade  train  from  Paquin  dis- 
posed from  step  to  step  in  the  foreground;  another  of  the 
bride  and  groom  taken  together,  George,  frock-coated  and 
gardenia'd,  very  brave  and  conscious  and  smiling;  the  w^ed- 
ding-party  entering  the  church;  the  wedding-party  leaving 
the  church;  the  wedding-party  at  breakfast,  etc.,  etc. 
"  Everybody  "  —  that  is,  some  hundred  and  fifty  carefully 
selected  persons  —  was  asked  and  "  everybody  "  went.  The 
house  was  decorated  with  bushels  of  f reesias  and  pink  tulips ; 
it  is  a  little  difficult  to  find  anything  in  the  way  of  flow- 
ers sufficiently  rare  and  costly  to  be  original  at  this  season 
of  the  year,  when  the  florists'  shops  are  at  their  best,  but 
the  mound  of  orchids  on  the  bride's  table  helped  out  in  this 
respect.  At  any  rate,  Hester  was  satisfied,  a  statement  of 
more  significance  than  would  appear  on  the  surface;  she  had 
not  Edith's  taste  and  capacity  for  management,  and  changed 
her  mind  twenty  times  over  every  single  detail,  hovering 
undecided  and  keeping  everyone  else  hovering  almost  up 
to  the  last  minute. 

Mrs.  Rudolph  Gherardi,  by  the  way,  was  the  matron  of 
honor;  she  may  be  seen  standing  at  the  bride's  right  in  the 
group  picture,  in  a  toilette  of  ivory-colored  lace  and  apple- 

128 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  129 

green,  with  a  satin  hat  of  sweeping  lines  a  la  Madame  Le 
Brun,  lean  and  spirited  among  the  other  young  women,  like 
a  game  bird  caught  with  some  pretty  barnyard  flock.  The 
Gherardis  came  on  from  Washington,  but  it  was  understood 
were  not  returning  there;  that  capable  Edith  having  dis- 
mantled their  house,  and  having  gotten  everything,  furni- 
ture, servants,  automobiles,  stables,  dogs,  in  shape  for  a 
change  of  residence,  on  less  than  a  week's  notice.  Captain 
Gherardi's  government  had  recalled  him  to  Berlin  whence 
he  expected  to  be  re-assigned  either  to  Rome  or  Vienna  —  a 
step  up  the  diplomatic  ladder,  as  the  military  attache  did 
not  hesitate  to  make  known.  ''  The  U.  S.  isn't  quite  so  big 
and  important  as  those  continental  posts,  eh?  "  said  Elihu 
Rudd,  eyeing  the  young  man  from  under  his  heavily  thatched 
brows.  "'  They  wouldn't  think  of  sending  a  real  first-class 
man  here.  I  see,  I  see."  And  he  surveyed  his  nephew-in- 
law  with  an  attention  which  might  have  seemed  somew^hat 
pointed  to  the  casual  on-looker;  the  captain,  however,  was 
rather  favorably  impressed  by  it,  if  anything;  he  caressed 
the  ends  of  his  little,  blond,  pointed  moustache  complacently, 
glancing  at  himself  askant  in  one  of  the  pier-glasses  of  Mrs. 
Lawson  Rudd's  Empire  drawing-room. 

Steven  had  to  give  the  bride  away,  the  head  of  the  house 
being  most  inopportunely  laid  up  with  a  severe  attack  of 
lumbago.  Lawson  was  very  savage,  not  at  the  pain  which 
he  bore  with  exemplary  patience,  and  not,  to  be  truthful,  at 
his  enforced  absence  from  the  wedding  which  he  opined 
good-humoredly  could  go  along  according  to  all  the  forms, 
without  him,  but  because  of  the  delay  in  the  conduct  of  an 
occult  matter  known  to  all  the  firm  as  the  ''  Shepherd- 
GafTney  deal."  He  could  not  let  it  rest,  though  he  could  not 
rest  himself ;  he  had  Mr.  Galway  up  from  the  office ;  he  had 
Jim  Dickerson,  that  dependable  old  business  war-horse;  he 
sent  for  the  head  stenographer,  and  sat  propped  up  on  the 
bedroom  lounge,  smoking  a  strong  cigar,  his  face  twitching 
off  and  on  with  pain,  dictating  resolutely.  Any  time  you 
passed  the  door,  you  might  hear  the  heavy,  deliberate 
words,  which  he  was  scarcely  ever  known  to  alter.  "  Oh  my, 
no,  it's  not  a  bit  tiresome!  "  Miss  Parker  assured  Mrs.  Law- 
son  in  response  to  her  polite  sympathies.    "  I  like  to  take 


130  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

the  boss's  letters.  It's  so  easy;  he  always  goes  right  straight 
along.  My,  if  you  could  hear  some  of  'em,  going  urr-urr,  and 
stopping  and  starting  like  an  automobile  engine  when  it  won't 
crank  right,  and  '  Just-read-that-over-please '  about  forty 
times,  till  you'd  think  they'd  know  it  by  heart!  Oh  my,  no, 
honestly  if  anybody  was  to  ask  me,  I'd  say  this  was  a  snap." 

Mrs.  Rudd  was  much  entertained  and  afterwards  enter- 
tained her  friends  equally  with  the  story.  "  I'm  sure  Law- 
son's  manner  would  frighten  me  to  death  if  I  were  trying  to 
do  anything  of  the  sort  for  him.  He  seems  to  me  to  be 
simply  growling  one  steady  growl  about  shipments  of  magne- 
sia and  oxygen,  things  like  that,  in  tanks  or  carboys,  or 
whatever  they  are  packed  in.  He  scarcely  ever  says  '  Please  ' 
or  '  Thank  you,'  except  in  the  most  perfunctory  way  —  just 
treats  her  like  another  man,  or  rather,  like  a  machine.  And 
she  says  he's  '  lovely  '!  Eh?  Oh,  mercy,  no!  A  very  nice 
girl,  of  course,  but  at  least  thirty-five  and  not  at  all  attrac- 
tive. If  I  had  ever  worried  over  that  part  of  it — about 
Steve  or  his  father  —  one  look  at  Miss  Parker  would  have 
set  my  mind  at  rest,"  the  lady  would  finish  with  laughter. 

Indeed,  neither  of  the  Rudd  men,  father  or  son,  was  likely 
to  give  any  woman  anxiety  on  the  grounds  Mrs.  Rudd  indi- 
cated. With  Lawson,  it  was  not  so  much  a  matter  of  resist- 
ing temptation  as  of  never  feeling  it.  His  interests  in  life, 
arranged  on  a  sliding-scale,  were:  the  Rudd  Chemical  Com- 
pany; his  wife  and  family;  "  Journey's  End."  The  schedule 
crowded  out  all  other  matters.  And  as  for  Steven,  setting 
aside  temperament,  he  was  absorbed  in  carving  out,  or  in 
a  more  accurately  descriptive  figure,  in  chipping  out,  some 
sort  of  nook  for  himself  in  the  business  world,  and  the  oper- 
ation safeguarded  him.  The  young  fellow  was  in  deadly 
earnest  about  it.  "  I  don't  want  to  be  just  your  son  —  Law- 
son  Rudd's  son.  That's  too  easy  —  being  fitted  into  a  nice 
velvet  case  like  a  piece  of  jewellery.  I  want  to  be  Steven 
Rudd!  "  he  declared  to  his  father,  reddening,  a  little  ashamed 
of  his  own  vehemence,  bracing  himself  to  meet  the  other's 
amusement.  But  Lawson  did  not  smile.  He  merely 
answered,  a  trifle  absently:  "  Yes,  of  course.  That's  right. 
1  see  Mississippi  Central  and  Gulf  Coast  has  gone  up  two 
points  since  the  merger,"  and  went  on  reading  the  mormng- 
paper  over  his  breakfast. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  131 

It  was  at  such  moments  that  Steven  felt,  along  with  his 
admiration  and  respect  for  his  father  and  along  with  a  sense 
of  youthful  inferiority,  a  certain  contradictory  dissatisfac- 
tion. Every  man  of  so  strong  a  character  and  such  large 
achievements  must  have  a  vision,  must  have  started  out 
with  a  vision,  at  any  rate  —  a  vision  of  great  things  to  be 
done,  whether  conquering  a  kingdom,  or  supplying  the  world 
with  sulphuric  acid ;  that  was  Steven's  thesis.  Without  that 
powerful  imaginative  or  intellectual  or  perhaps  spiritual 
endowment,  no  man  could  succeed,  the  younger  Rudd  was 
devoutly  sure.  But  it  was  impossible  to  invest  his  father 
with  any  such  attributes;  though  he  had  unquestionably 
succeeded  as  a  very  young  man  and  was  still  succeeding  be- 
fore Steven's  very  eyes,  there  was  no  expanding  him  to 
heroic  proportions;  he  continued  to  be  an  active,  hardy, 
experienced,  middle-aged  gentleman,  possessing,  to  be  sure, 
noticeable  powers  of  concentration  and  ability  to  get  through 
an  immense  amount  of  work,  but  no  vision,  as  Steven  inter- 
preted that  term.  Sitting  at  his  desk  in  his  office,  dictating 
letters,  receiving  people  and  sending  them  away,  arguing 
with  brother  business-men,  making  speeches  and  reading 
papers  before  this  or  that  board,  committee  and  convention, 
or  at  home  in  the  midst  of  grinding  suffering  tenaciously 
conducting  the  Shephe.'d-Gaffney  deal  to  a  brilliant  conclu- 
sion, he  might  be  a  big  man  in  big  business,  but  his  bigness 
still  eluded  the  son.  He  could  see  that  his  senior  thought 
and  spoke  lucidly  and  to  the  point ;  that  about  any  course  of 
action  he  never  seemed  to  hesitate  or  to  be  at  a  loss  or  to 
make  a  false  step;  that  his  memory  was  extraordinarily 
nimble  and  ready;  that  he  understood  other  men  and  was 
liked  by  them;  that  he  was  shrewd,  resourceful,  courageous. 
But  what  had  all  these  qualities  to  do  with  the  indefinably 
uplifting  thing,  the  indispensable  thing  that  Steven  meant  by 
"  vision"?  He  knew  his  uncle  Elihu  shared  most  of  them, 
but  he  did  not  believe  Uncle  Elihu  to  be  the  equal  of  his 
father  by  any  means.  Sometimes  he  wondered  if,  after  all, 
this  difference  between  the  two  men  might  not  be  a  proof  of 
the  existence  in  Lawson  of  the  intangible  gift. 

Steven  had  solid  doubts  about  possessing  it  himself.  For 
one  thing,  he  discovered  that  he  could  not  fasten  his  wits 


132  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

down  to  the  daily,  hourly  tussle  with  facts  and  figures  and 
the  matters  on  hand,  with  the  ease  which  his  father  dis- 
played; it  looked  like  ease  to  Steven.  Mr.  Rudd  would 
arrive  at  the  office  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning;  he 
would  read  his  mail ;  and  for  three  hours  thereafter  he  would 
pursue  whatever  business  questions  came  up  with  an  un- 
flagging attention,  and  absolute  command  and  application 
of  every  faculty.  Steven,  at  his  desk,  with  the  moderate 
amount  of  work  allotted  to  him,  constantly  wrestled  with 
the  difficulty  of  keeping  his  mind  upon  it!  He  was  con- 
vinced that  this  was  not  chargeable  to  lack  of  interest; 
even  if  the  work  seemed  to  be  routine  stuff,  mere  drudgery, 
he  knew  that  he  must  master  it,  if  he  would  learn  the  busi- 
ness; and  to  learn  the  business  was  Steven's  aim,  because  it 
was  a  necessary  preliminary  to  running  the  business,  to 
being  Steven  Rudd,  in  short,  not  Lawson  Rudd's  son,  that 
contemptibly  negligible  person.  The  young  man  was  not 
dull  and  not  lazy ;  he  had  the  sense  and  the  humor  to  per- 
ceive that  only  in  exceptional  cases  does  anyone  arrive  at 
accomplishing'big  things  without  first  having  grappled  with 
and  overcome  an  infinite  number  of  little  things.  His  ambi- 
tion was  on  the  whole  more  reasonable  and  more  creditable 
than  the  ambitions  of  a  good  many  other  youths  in  his  circle 
with  whom  he  once  in  a  while  exchanged  views.  Like  him- 
self, they  were  getting  their  business  training  in  their  fathers' 
offices  or  counting-rooms,  but  unlike  Steve,  they  one  and  all 
had  much  wider,  deeper,  loftier,  more  far-sighted  ideas  about 
the  conduct  of  their  divers  concerns  than  the  older  members 
of  the  firms,  oh,  much! 

''  Dad  and  Mr.  Burch  know  all  about  business  the  way 
it  was  handled  when  they  started  out,"  one  would  tell  the 
others  in  confidence.  "  They  built  up  a  mighty  good  busi- 
ness, too,  but  it's  not  going  to  stay  good,  unless  they  cut  out 
some  of  the  dead  wood  —  abandon  some  of  their  cherished 
old  time-honored,  moss-back  methods,  you  know.  That's 
what  I  keep  hinting  to  them  all  the  time.  If  they'd  let  me 
strike  out  once,  I'd  show  them!  As  it  is,  the  only  thing  that 
keeps  us  from  falling  behind  is  my  persuading  them  once  in 
a  coon's  age  to  try  something  new.  Then  they  forget,  and 
think  they've  been  doing  it  right  along!  "   Or^  "  The  matter 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  133 

with  old  people  like  my  father  is  they're  too  conservative. 
You  can't  run  any  business  such  as  ours  successfully,  unless 
you  keep  it  up  to  date  —  for  that  matter  being  up  to  date 
won't  always  bring  home  the  bacon.  You've  got  to  be  ahead 
of  date.  They  can't  see  that.  They're  always  advising 
going  slow,  cautious,  making  sure  of  one  step  before  you 
take  another,  as  my  father  says.  I  tell  him,  '  That's  all 
right,  but  there  are  times  w^hen  you'd  do  better  to  shut 
your  eyes  and  jump  for  it.  You  talk  about  never  leaving 
anything  to  chance,  and  of  course  that's  good  doctrine  as  a 
general  thing,  but  you've  got  to  take  a  chance  sometimes. 
You  take  chances  every  time  you  walk  along  the  street,  but 
if  you  don't  w^alk  along,  you  don't  ever  get  anywhere.' 
Makes  me  tired!  " 

Steven  used  to  listen  to  them,  setting  down  the  contrast 
betW'een  their  vigorously  asserted  points  of  view  and  his 
own,  not  to  a  difference  in  young  men,  but  to  the  difference 
in  fathers.  "  No,  I  don't  do  any  suggesting.  I  don't  know 
enough  yet;  and,  anyhow,  wx've  all  got  a  realizing  sense  of 
who's  boss  in  our  office,"  he  would  say  with  a  laugh.  But 
perhaps  he  secretly  envied  a  little  the  others'  cocksureness 
and  initiative.  For,  as  time  went  on,  most  of  these  young 
fellows,  one  by  one,  succeeded  to  the  management,  partial  or 
entire,  of  their  several  concerns;  and  lo,  they  ^Hook  hold" 
in  the  vernacular  of  the  street;  they  poured  new  wine  into 
the  old  bottles  even  as  they  had  promised;  they  did  well  and 
justified  their  faith  in  themselves.  Steven  could  not  figure 
himself  equalling  their  performances,  mainly  because  the 
Rudd  Chemical  Company  appeared  to  him  to  be  outside  of 
all  classifications.  It  had  the  air  of  an  erection  already  as 
complete  and  enduring  as  the  pj-ramids,  and  as  impossible 
for  him  either  to  improve  upon  or  subvert.  "  I  couldn't 
wreck  it  if  I  tried,  and  it  seems  to  grow  automatically !  "  he 
thought. 

However,  when  summer  came  round  again  and  he  was 
again  left  in  nominal  charge,  Steven  found  out,  to  his  own 
surprise,  that  the  position  was,  as  he  said  freely,  ''  a  lot  less 
nominal  "  than  it  had  been  the  first  time.  He  talked  gravely 
to  Mr.  Galway  about  the  change  in  himself,  feeling  as  many 
another  young  man  has  before  and  since  that  it  was  much 


134  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

easier  to  be  confidential  with  an  outsider  than  with  his 
father.  "  I  thought  I  knew  it  all  last  year.  Now  I  know 
enough  to  know  that  I  don't  know  it  all.  I've  learned  that 
much  anyhow.  Look  how  I  handled,  or  manhandled  rather, 
that  Cuban  fellow  that  wanted  us  to  make  up  two  invoices. 
I  wouldn't  do  that  now.  And  do  you  remember  Mr.  Walcott 
taking  luncheon  with  us  one  day  at  the  club,  and  telling  a 
story  about  old  Daniel  Garrard  being  involved  in  some 
transaction  that  wasn't  exactly  creditable  although  within 
the  law  —  " 

"  You  bet  it  was!  Imagine  Oom  Dan'l  getting  in  bad  with 
the  law!    Not  he!  "  said  Galway,  grinning. 

"  Well,  but  do  you  remember  Walcott's  story  was  that 
somebody  asked  Mr.  Garrard  if  he  thought  he  had  been 
strictly  honest?  And  he  said:  '  Mr.  So-and-So,  I  consider 
that  I  was  as  honest  as  the  circumstances  would  permit !  '  " 

Galway  laughed  again.  "  Sure !  Doesn't  that  sound  like 
him, though?  " 

"  Well,  Mr.  Galway,  do  you  know  that  when  I  heard  that 
story,  I  was  secretly  horrified?  "  Steven  told  him  soberly. 

"  Horrified,  eh?  " 

"  Yes.  I  couldn't  see  how  anybody  could  laugh.  I  thought 
old  Garrard  was  a  tricky  old  man  that  we  all  ought  to  turn 
our  backs  on!  " 

''  Oh,  Mr.  Garrard's  all  right,  in  the  main.  It's  only  that 
he's  a  —  a  little  near,  you  know,"  said  Galway,  rather 
hastily.  ''  In  business,  of  course,  you  come  across  all  kinds 
of  men.  You  have  —  er  —  you  have  to  make  allowances. 
We  all  know  Oom  Dan'l;  you  can't  help  laughing  at  that 
kind  of  meanness." 

'^  Yes,  I  know  that  now.  But  at  the  time  I  was  too  green. 
I  didn't  see  anything  laughable  about  it.  Quite  horrified!  " 
said  Steve,  who  was  ready  now  to  laugh  not  only  at  Mr.  Gar- 
rard, but  at  himself  into  the  bargain.  Galway  looked  after 
him  with  a  singularly  dubious  countenance,  however.  They 
were  all  getting  along  harmoniously  in  the  office,  and  cer- 
tainly young  Rudd  had  improved  a  good  deal  this  last 
year,  certainly  he  was  no  fool  —  but  he'd  never  be  the  man 
his  father  was,  Mr.  Galway  remarked  to  himself. 

All  this  time,  at  the  Stillman-Rudd  wedding  and  else- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  135 

where,  where  were  the  Ballards?  Scarcely  anybody  asked, 
and  nobody  seemed  to  know.  The  indifference  of  Society  to 
the  disappearance  of  two  people  who  had  been  so  popular 
struck  Steven  as  almost  tragic.  "  What  is  the  matter  with 
all  of  us?  "  he  questioned  himself.  "  We  aren't  heartless. 
We  care  for  one  another  and  we  do  a  lot  of  kind,  charitable 
things.  I've  seen  cheque  after  cheque  in  Mother's  book  filled 
out  to  the  Home  for  the  Friendless  and  the  Working  Girls' 
Club  and  all  those  organizations.  I  know  she's  got  besides  a 
whole  regiment  of  superannuated  servants  like  Hester's  old 
nurse  and  Annie  Flanagan,  that  laundress  we  had  for  so 
many  years,  pensioned  off  so  that  they  can  live  in  tolerable 
comfort.  All  her  friends  that  have  the  same  means  are 
probably  doing  the  same  thing.  Yet  here  two  women  we 
know,  in  our  own  class,  drop  out  all  at  once,  and  we  don't 
pay  any  more  attention  to  it  than  if  they  had  never  been! 
They  might  be  dead,  they  might  be  starving  in  a  garret  — 
nobody  cares  enough  to  find  out.  If  they  had  money,  and 
chose  to  go  away  for  a  while,  people  wouldn't  forget  them. 
Yet  I  don't  believe  we're  all  indecently  fond  of  money.  What 
is  the  matter  with  us?  "  It  was  the  dreary  mystery  of  life 
as  lived  by  out-of-pocket  gentility  that  he  was  trying  to 
fathom.  The  Friendless,  for  a  paradox,  have  in  reality 
plenty  of  friends ;  the  Working  Girls  get  all  the  sympathetic 
notice  expressed  in  cheques  and  otherwise  that  is  good  for 
them.  But  who  is  doing  anything,  or  who  can  do  anything 
for  the  Reverend  Mr.  Goodshepherd,  rector  of  All  Angels, 
whose  salary  is  twelve  hundred  a  year  on  which  he  has  to 
support  a  wife  and  five  children,  and  meanwhile  keep  up  the 
dignity  of  an  Episcopal  clergyman?  There  is  little  Miss 
Seaworthy,  Rear-Admiral  Seaworthy's  daughter,  whom  he 
left  without  a  penny,  after  carefully  bringing  her  up  so  that 
she  wouldn't  know  how  to  do  anything;  there  is  my  friend 
Doctor  Booklore,  one  time  Professor  of  Dead  Languages, 
who,  upon  reaching  the  age  limit,  retires  with  next  to  noth- 
ing saved  up,  dead  languages  not  being  a  highly  remuner- 
ative calling;  though  I  know  that  they  are  pinched  to  the 
final  degree^  the  most  I  can  do  for  them  without  insult  is  to 
invite  them  to  dinner  and  see  that  they  get  one  square  meal 
at  least.     With  all  the  good-will  in  the  world,  my  other 


136  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

friend,  Mrs.  Lawson  Rudd,  cannot  send  these  people 
cheques;  she  can  help  her  ancient  laundresses  and  nurse- 
maids, but  she  cannot  help  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Not  being 
able  to  help  them,  perhaps  the  next  best  thing  one  can  do  is 
to  forget  them;  upon  some  such  theory,  at  any  rate,  Society 
seemed  to  proceed,  in  the  eyes  of  young  Steve  Rudd.  He 
asked  Miss  Stillman  and  George,  both  of  whom  replied 
rather  vaguely:  "  Oh,  Mary  and  Aunt  Ellen?  Why,  they're 
in  New  York.  No,  it  isn't  New  York  either,  it's  one  of  those 
little  suburbs."  And  both  promised  to  get  him  the  address, 
and  both  forgot.  Steven  advised  himself  in  a  melancholy 
mood  that  "  she  "  probably  would  not  care  to  hear  from  him, 
anyhow;  he  could  not  quite  make  out  her  unwillingness  to 
marry  him  while  avowing  openly  that  she  liked  him  better 
than  any  man  she  knew,  and  all  that  fantastic  stuff  about 
having  laid  a  trap  for  him;  but  she  had  at  least  made  it 
plain  that  she  wanted  to  be  let  alone,  and  to  go  her  own 
ways  for  a  while. 

He  took  a  vacation  in  the  Northwest  that  year,  his  inter- 
est having  been  aroused  by  some  See-America-First  doc- 
trine preached  by  his  sister  Edith,  of  all  people  in  the  world! 
She  and  her  husband  had  been  visiting  with  tremendous 
state  and  ceremony  at  a  grand-ducal  hunting-lodge  in  the 
Carpathians,  and  Edith  wrote  in  a  lively  strain,  contrasting 
the  experience  not  at  all  favorably  with  that  of  her  wedding 
journey  the  previous  year.  For  the  week  they  had  taken  a 
maid,  a  valet  and  half  a  dozen  trunks;  five  toilettes  a  day 
were  the  minimum ;  the  eating  and  drinking  —  Edith  her- 
self was  by  nature  of  a  Spartan  abstemiousness  —  fairly 
wore  out  one's  appetite;  one  of  the  guests  was  a  celebrated 
operatic  lady  towards  whom  everybody  had  to  practise  an 
extreme  courtesy,  though  she  was  more  than  suspected  of 
being  au  mieux  with  the  Royal  Highness  himself.  For  that 
matter  there  were  all  kinds  of  silly  and  scandalous  intrigues 
going  on  all  around;  she  had  no  doubt  they  sneered  at  her 
behind  her  back  and  called  her  stiff  and  prudish.  They 
sneered  a  good  deal  covertly  or  openly  at  Americans  anyhow. 
The  scenery  was  magnificent,  the  air  like  wine,  the  sport 
would  be  the  finest  imaginable  —  "  wild  boar,  Stevie,  splen- 
didly fierce  and  dangerous.    If  they'd  let  you  go  after  them 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  137 

and  stalk  them  decently  and  give  the  poor  brutes  a  fighting 
chance,  you'd  have  enough  thrills  to  put  Stewart  Edward 
White  off  the  map.  As  it  is,  the  hunts  are  all  set  like  a  movie 
scenario;  the  Highness  can't  be  allowed  to  risk  his  precious 
life,  so  to  keep  him  in  countenance,  none  of  us  can  risk  ours. 
The  women  aren't  supposed  to  have  guns  anyhow;  we  get 
ourselves  up  in  gorgeous  furs  and  the  most  stunning  English 
tweed  tailored  creations  we  possess  and  motor  out  and  meet 
the  men  in  a  beautiful,  romantic  glen  or  on  a  terrace  in  front 
of  some  old  schloss,  and  the  servants  bring  champagne  and 
pate  de  foie  gras,  and  everybody  flirts.  I  thought  all  the 
men  must  be  perfectly  punk  shots,  till  I  found  out  that  no- 
bodv  dares  to  bring  in  anywhere  near  as  big  a  bag  as  the 
Highness.  If  you  did,  you'd  ruin  your  court  career!  "  She 
advised  him  with  a  kind  of  jocular  seriousness  to  do  his 
hunting  and  everything  else  at  home,  in  his  own  country,  if 
he  wanted  real  sport  in  company  with  real  men  and  women ; 
nothing  over  there  was  any  better  than  what  America  had  to 
offer,  if  as  good;  she  didn't  care  how  spread-eagle-ish  that 
sounded !  Steven  thought  it  did  not  sound  so  spread-eagle- 
ish  as  it  sounded  homesick  and  disillusioned.  Something  in 
the  tone  of  the  whole  letter  obscurely  disquieted  him.  He 
spoke  of  it  to  his  father. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  Edith's  going  to  like  it  over 
there  any  too  well.  Of  course  she's  been  around  and  seen  a 
good  deal ;  she's  perfectly  sophisticated  and  able  to  look  out 
for  herself.  But  I  don't  believe  Edie  ever  really  gave  a 
whoop  for  the  society  stunt;  she  plays  it  well  because  she 
does  everything  well.  But  I  don't  see  how  she's  going  to 
stand  the  sort  of  life  she  describes  here,"  he  said. 

Lawson  vindicated  his  son's  judgment  by  reading  the  let- 
ter with  a  disturbed  brow.  "  It  doesn't  give  a  very  agreeable 
picture  — to  an  American,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  ''We 
have  plenty  of  foolishness  among  our  own  people,  but  not 
that  particular  kind  of  foolishness.  Edith  will  get  used  to  it 
in  time,  I  daresay.  As  you  say,  she'll  hold  up  her  end,  any- 
how.   I  always  supposed  most  women  liked  it." 

"  Edith's  different,"  said  Steven.  However,  the  next  letter 
from  her  showed  the  young  couple  back  in  town  in  their 
apartment,  which  was  as  spacious,  elegant   and  choicely 


138  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

located  as  was  suitable  to  their  wealth  and  elevated  posi- 
tion; and  Edith  gave  the  impression  of  being  very  gay  and 
busy,  and  as  popular  as  any  American  woman  could  expect 
to  be. 

It  was  after  he  had  got  back  home,  tanned  and  hearty  from 
four  weeks  of  glorious  roughing  it,  and  with  a  diary  full  of 
impressions  and  experiences  which  he  privately  meant  to 
use  as  literary  material  some  day,  that  Steven,  going  up  to 
dress  for  dinner  one  evening,  found  a  bulky  consignment 
just  arrived  by  parcels  post  awaiting  him.  It  bore  an  inde- 
cipherable stamp;  but  his  name  and  address  had  been 
stenciled  on  in  a  notably  legible  and  workmanlike  manner, 
and  it  was  wrapped  and  packed  to  travel  around  the  globe ; 
never  were  there  seen  knots  at  once  so  neat,  complicated 
and  secure.  Steve  had  to  operate  upon  them  with  his  pen- 
knife; within,  the  first  thing  to  be  disclosed  was  a  letter 
addressed  to  him  in  an  unfamiliar  handwriting,  crabbed  but 
distinct.  He  thought  it  must  be  from  one  of  his  new  ac- 
quaintances on  the  upper  reaches  of  the  Columbia  River,  the 
post-trader  perhaps,  or  John  Plenty-Feathers,  or  the  other 
guide,  the  one  they  called  ''  Docky,"  till  he  opened  and  saw: 
*'  Thanksgiving  Cove,  Nov.  30,  191  — "  and  that  it  was 
signed  "  Yours  truly,  Ebenezer  Howe."  Steve  began  to 
read,  uttering  a  loud  exclamation  in  the  middle  of  it. 

"  Great  governor!  That  was  mighty  careless  of  me!  "  he 
ejaculated,  with  a  rueful  glance  at  the  bundle. 

"  Steven  Rudd,  Esq.,  Dear  Sir:  "  the  Captain  wrote. 
"  Herewith  please  find  enclosed  eight  (8)  written  books  and 
one  (1)  parcel  letters,  as  per  list,  left  here  last  year  by  E. 
Rudd,  Esq.,  on  or  about  October  27.  Same  were  found  when 
parlor  was  opened  on  acct.  funeral  of  Mrs.  Sabina  Howe 
Littleford,  December  following.  Owing  to  circumstances  of 
dec'd,  she  not  having  lived  here,  but  just  come  back  from  the 
West  (Erie,  Penn.)  where  had  resided  thirty  years,  for  a  visit 
and  dying  suddenly  while  here,  occasioning  some  confusion  in 
house,  books,  etc.  after  being  removed  from  parlor  were  put 
with  dec'd  trunk  and  other  things,  and  supposed  belonged  to 
her.  Mistake  not  rectified  until  remains  were  shipped  to 
Erie  for  interment,  with  property.  Heirs  finding  themselves 
unable  to  determine  ownership  of  books,  etc.,  returned  same 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  139 

to  me.  After  some  time  identified  same  as  having  seen  them 
m  E.  Rudd's  room,  but  unable  to  locate  him.  However, 
obtained  your  address  from  gardener  (R.  McCrae)  and  am 
forwarding  them  with  this.  Invoice  correct  as  far  as  known. 
Trusting  this  will  be  satisfactory, 

Yours  truly, 

Ebenezer  Howe. 
P.S.    A  receipt  would  oblige." 

''Great  General  Washington!"  said  Steven.    He  looked 
over  the  enclosed  slip  on  which  Cap'n  Eben  had  scrupulously 
noted  down:  "  1  book,  back  loose,  labelled  Diary  J.  Varda- 
man  1857."   "1  book,  top  c'n'rs  several  pps.  badly  nibbled, 
pres'm'bly  mouse,  ditto,  1862."  "  1  pkg.  letters,  ditto,  1863." 
''  That  was  mighty  careless  of  me,"  said  Steve  again.    What 
must  the  Burkes  have  thought?     Perhaps,  however,  they 
themselves  had  forgotten  the  doctor's  papers,  since  they  had 
made  no  inquiries.    The  family  had  been  widely  scattered 
this  last  year  and  they  were  all  busy  people.    It  was  to  be 
hoped  that  nothing  had  been  lost  during  the  parcel's  journey- 
ings;  all  the  Howe  family  might  not  be  so  punctiliously  care- 
ful as  the  captain.    But  at  any  rate,  Steven  reflected  with  a 
smile,  it  was  likely  that  the  Burkes  did  not  know^  much  more 
about  the  manuscript  than  he  himself,  and  were  as  little 
qualified  to  say  what  was  missing,  if  anything.    He  opened 
the  topmost  book,  that  dated  1862,  fluttering  over  the  leaves 
amid  a  small  simoon  of  powdery  paper  crumbs  from  the 
"  c'n'rs  nibbled,  pres'm'bly  mouse,"  and  saw  his  own  name  m 
Doctor  Vardaman's  clear  and  strong  hand,  "...  jrom  D. 
Rudd,   the   same  infernal   quack   that   makes   the  patent 
medicine  .  .  .  ■"  Steven  read  on. 


CHAPTER  II 

TAKING  the  years  it  covered  in  their  order,  the  latter 
part  of  Doctor  Vardaman's  diary  differed  strikingly 
from  the  beginning  of  it,  in  not  being  nearly  so  pro- 
lix and  detailed  and  in  being  concerned,  generally  speaking, 
with  matters  of  more  importance.  During  its  first  decade, 
the  doctor  appeared  to  have  enjoyed  that  unwelcome  leisure 
which  is  frequently  accorded  to  young  professional  men  at 
the  outset  of  their  careers ;  and  to  have  employed  a  good  deal 
of  it  in  page  after  page  of  profound  dissertations  on  nothing 
of  any  moment,  in  transcribing  reams  of  verse,  some  quoted, 
some  original,  some  rendered  into  English  from  the  classics, 
in  minute  notes  on  the  weather,  the  garden,  the  political  sit- 
uation, Shakespeare  and  the  musical  glasses!  But  as  he 
progressed  towards  middle  life,  the  times  became  less  spa- 
cious, the  entries  fewer  and  much  briefer  and  more  compact, 
mere  marking-stones  along  the  path  of  a  busy  and  hard- 
working man.  "  Out  all  day,  home  three  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing, dog-tired.  Afraid  Mrs.  Jeffries  won't  pull  through. 
Baby  all  right,  though,"  he  would  scrawl.  In  the  early  '50's 
there  had  been  an  epidemic  of  cholera  —  cholera  morbus,  the 
doctor  called  it  in  the  old  fashion  —  all  through  one  summer. 
Like  the  other  doctors  he  stuck  to  his  post ;  and  working  day 
and  night,  at  last  came  down  himself  with  the  malady.  A 
long  gap  between  dates  dumbly  bore  witness  to  the  event 
which  Vardaman  had  only  chronicled  with:  '^  Sick  since  last 
entry."  All  along  there  were  more  or  less  technically  worded 
memoranda  of  out-of-the-way  cases  which  had  come  under 
his  observation,  accompanied  with  comments,  theories, 
guesses,  some  of  which  would  be  wild  enough,  no  doubt,  in 
the  light  of  present-day  knowledge.  And  there  were  many 
notes  for  his  lectures,  remarks  on  medical  works  just  out, 
on  meetings  and  consultations  with  other  doctors,  and  on 
discoveries  noised  throughout  his  professional  world. 

140 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  141 

At  the  opening  of  the  Civil  War,  he  volunteered,  and  saw 
about  a  year  of  service  in  the  field;  but  at  the  time  Steve 
Rudd,  by  the  strangest  of  strange  chances,  encountered 
him,  the  doctor  had  been  assigned  to  Camp  Mason  which  as 
Steve  gathered  by  turning  back  and  forth  amongst  the  pages 
was  a  sort  of  depot  or  collecting  place  for  army-supplies 
and  the  newly-drafted  troops  from  all  over  the  State.  The 
hospital  was  probably  as  adequately  equipped  as  any  hospi- 
tal in  those  days  —  a  dispensary,  some  surgical  appliances 
and  instruments,  a  personnel  made  up  of  soldiers  detailed 
for  nursing  duty,  a  few  women  volunteers,  people  picked  up 
at  hazard,  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  Vardaman  found  no 
fault  with  it.  His  first  notes  dealt  with  cases  of  measles 
and  dysentery,  evils  only  too  common  among  the  camps. 
"  Practically  no  surgical  work  here  at  all,  as  this  station  is 
too  far  from  the  front  to  be  available  for  the  wounded,"  he 
wrote.  "  Well,  I  had  enough  experience  last  year  to  be 
willing  to  retire  and  give  some  other  man  a  chance.  By  com- 
parison, this  is  a  lazy  job.  I  have  a  good  deal  of  tinie  to  my- 
self, and  should  use  it  to  expand  these  notes,  I  think.  We 
live  in  a  great  and  stirring  age,  but  who  would  suspect  it 
from  reading  my  journal?  '' 

"  June  18.  The  most  great  and  stirring  event  since  above 
was  a  scare  about  Mrs.  Macfarlane's  (laundress)  three-year- 
old  baby!  Youngster  got  hold  of  some  strychnine  that  the 
mother  had  got  at  the  dispensary  to  kill  rats  with,  and  swal- 
lowed a  good  third  of  it.  Mrs.  Macf .  found  him  playing  with 
the  empty  box,  and  proclaiming  that  it  was  goody-goody! 
She  didn't  know  how  long  the  poison  had  been  in  him,  but 
it  fortunately  had  not  had  time  to  take  effect,  and  I'll  war- 
rant there's  none  in  the  poor  little  devil  now.  He's  as  weak 
as  a  dishrag.  Must  warn  dispensary-clerk  about  letting  any- 
body and  everybody  have  poisons.  There  ought  to  be  a 
law " 

"June  20.  Two  men  down  with  malarial  fever  (?)  in 
Ward  4.  Attendant's  diagnosis,  not  mine.  '  Old-time 
bone-ache,  Doc.  Both  of  'em  chillin'  off  and  on,  and  mighty 
uncomf 'ble  in  their  heads  'n'  backs.  Give  'em  a  hot  mustard 
bath,  /  would.'  He's  a  good  fellow,  Enos  Moffat  by  name, 
and  a  very  eflBcient  nurse.    Was  a  tinner  in  civilian  life,  I 


142  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

believe!  Macfarlane  child  all  right;  must  have  the  consti- 
tution of  an  ox.  Can't  understand  how  it  escaped  in  the 
first  place,  the  poison  acts  with  such  appalling  rapidity. 
There's  a  case  on  record  of  half  a  grain  causing  death  in 
14  minutes.  He  had  had  much  more  than  that;  it's  so  bit- 
ter one  would  think  he  wouldn't  have  relished  it  after  the 
first  taste." 

"21.  Malarial  patients  not  improving;  neither  of  them 
seems  to  react  to  the  quinine.  A  new  case  to-day.  Saw 
about  having  latrines  cleaned ;  lime  and  copperas.  If  I  could 
get  hold  of  some  bichromate  of  potash  I'd  make  some  tests 
of  that  strychnine." 

"25.  It's  typhoid  meningitis.  7  new  cases  yesterday  and 
to-day." 

"  July  2.  No  use  blinking  the  truth.  We've  got  an  epi- 
demic on  our  hands.  ..." 

"  July  8.  Captain  Harter's  little  boy  died  this  a.m.  The 
other  child  will  recover,  I  think.    Mind  probably  affected." 

The  doctor's  notes  dwindled  from  this  point  to  a  mere 
scratch  at  intervals.  It  could  be  gathered  that  he  had  got 
another  doctor,  isolated  the  patients,  used  every  precaution, 
tried  every  treatment  known  to  the  times.  The  blanks  in 
the  diary  were  eloquent  of  courage,  endeavor,  self-sacrifice, 
and  alas,  of  gruesomely  frequent  failure.  "  Poor  Moffat's 
gone.  In  his  delirium  he  tried  repeatedly  to  get  up,  talking 
about  this  or  that  sick  man  that  he  must  attend  to.  But 
he  always  knew  me,  and  I  think  the  last  coherent  words  he 
ever  uttered  were:  *  God  Almighty,  Doc,  they're  dyin'  on  us 
like  flies!' 

"  If  it  would  only  spare  the  children!  Adults  don't  have 
the  convulsions.  ..." 

"  Aug.  (Don't  know  what  date) .  All  night  with  one  of 
the  teamsters.  He  died  at  dawn.  I  must  find  out  this  man's 
name." 

The  ghastly  record  went  on  for  many  pages,  disjointedly, 
with  entries  interspersed  which  sometimes  bore  no  apparent 
relation  to  the  rest.  "  Bought  quinine  myself  of  Barton. 
Told  him  about  the  other.  He  wouldn't  say  much,  of  course, 
except  that  nobody  knew  what  they  were  buying  these  days, 
and  that  mistakes  would  be  made,  and  one  couldn't  place  the 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  143 

blame  always,  etc.    But  wound  up  very  emphatically  by  say- 
ing that  he  made  sure  of  his  drugs  "  ,  .  ,    ,      , 
'^  Wrote  to  Nat  Burke.    Somethmg  ought  to  be  done. 
''  Burke  not  encouraging.    The  damned  murderers." 
It  was  autumn  before  the  disease  spent  itself.    And  now 
at  last  Vardaman  found  time,  not  indeed  to  fill  up  those 
breaks  in  his  journal,  but  to  piece  out  its  meagre  details  with 
the  statement  that  young  Steven  Rudd  was  to  read  titty 

^^'^  Oct  22     I  have  been  trying  to  get  all  my  facts  and  dates 
into  some  sort  of  shape  for  a  report.    Everything  was  all 
higgledy-piggledy.    To  begin  at  the  beginning:  I  realize  now 
that  it  was  that  business  of  the  strychnine  that  first  aroused 
my  suspicions.    I  had  no  time  and  no  proper  apparatus  here 
to  make  a  conclusive  test,  the  only  vessel  at  hand,  for  in- 
stance, to  use  in  heating  the  pure  spirits  or  chloroform  would 
have  been  an  ordinary  saucepan  out  of  the  kitchen.    Mow- 
ever,  I  got  nitric  acid  and  potassium  bichromate;  having 
only  the  most  elementary  acquaintance  with  chemistry,  am 
unable  to  state  positively  the  proportion  of  nux.  vom.  pres- 
ent, but  may  fairly  call  it  negligible.    In  plain  words  there 
was  not  enough  to  kill  a  mouse.    This  led  me  to  investigate 
our  store  of  quinine,  of  which  I  had  been  using  large  quan- 
tities in  attempts  to  check  the  fever,  which  was  beginning 
to  gain  on  us  frightfullv.    This  time,  however,  not  wishing  to 
rely  solely  on  my  own  judgment,  I  took  a  sample  to  a  pro- 
fessional chemist.     In  the  meanwhile  I  got  quinine  from  a 
druggist  (James  D.  Barton)  whom  I  had  known  for  years, 
and  considered  a  trustworthy  man;  it  was  perfectly  satis- 
factory    These  expenses,  viz.:  the  analysis  and  the  quinine, 
I  bore  myself.    The  Government  quinine  was  discovered  to 
be  a  compound  of  magnesia,  common  flour,  powdered  alum, 
and  a  verv  small  percentage  of  the  actual  drug  to  give  it  a 
slight  flavor;  there  may  have  been  other  ingredients  which 
have  slipped  mv  memorv,  but  I  have  the  chemist's  formula. 
This  was  all  I  could  do  at  this  time  (about  the  first  week  m 
August)  as  we  were  very  busy  with  the  sickness.    Later  I 
got  an  affidavit  to  the  above  facts  from  the  expert  I  em- 
ployed  and  after  considerable  inquiry  found  that  the  Gov- 
ernment had  made  large  purchases  of  quimne  at  various 


144  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

dates  from  D.  Rudd,  the  same  infernal  quack  that  sells  the 
patent-medicine ;  it  seems  that  he  has  set  up  a  wholesale  drug 
business. 

''  I  sent  all  the  evidence  to  Burke,  hoping  that  it  would  be 
possible  to  bring  Rudd  to  book.  But  he  wrote  me  back  in 
that  philosophical  strain  into  which  lawyers  seem  to  glide 
insensibly,  I  suppose  from  constant  daily  contact  with  the 
worst  and  weakest  side  of  human  nature,  and  the  necessity 
to  suspend  judgment  and  look  on  all  sides.  He  said  in  effect 
that  nobody  would  question  my  statements  nor  the  proofs  I 
offered,  nor  the  sincerity  and  justice  of  my  indignation.  But 
getting  a  conviction  in  court,  it  seems,  would  be  a  horse  of 
another  color!  The  Government  had  undoubtedly  bought 
quinine  from  a  dozen  different  concerns  all  over  the  country 
both  before  and  since  the  Rudd  purchase;  and  even  if  I 
could  undertake  to  swear  {which  I  would!)  that  this  was 
Rudd's  quinine  which  I  had  discovered  to  be  bogus,  and  if 
Rudd  were  put  on  the  stand,  he  could  easily  swear  and  bring 
proofs  quite  as  good  as  mine  that  the  quinine  was  genuine  to 
the  best  of  his  knowledge  and  belief,  that  he  had  had  it 
tested  as  usual,  that  he  had  never  had  any  reason  to  doubt 
the  honesty  of  the  South  American  agents  from  whom  he  got 
his  supply,  etc.,  etc.  As  to  his  patent-medicine  record,  that's 
neither  here  nor  there,  according  to  Burke.  No  judge  and  no 
jury  would  take  into  consideration  the  fact  that  he  has  been 
selling  his  vile,  worthless  cure-all  for  years,  swindling  poor, 
ignorant  sick  people  whose  very  ignorance  and  sickness 
would  have  protected  them  against  anybody  but  such  a 
merciless  and  conscienceless  scoundrel;  supposing  such  an 
argument  were  advanced,  all  the  opposing  counsel  would 
have  to  do  (Nat  says)  would  be  to  remark  with  a  smile  that 
Vardaman,  being  a  doctor,  shared  the  prejudices  of  his  pro- 
fession, and  that  however  often  and  violently  doctors  dis- 
agreed amongst  themselves,  they  were  naturally  unanimous 
in  condemning  any  medicine  or  treatment  that  did  away 
with  doctors  altogether!  '  In  short,  dear  Jack,'  Nat  writes; 
*  though  I  say  it  with  shame,  in  the  present  state  of  our  laws, 
nothing  can  be  done  to  the  fellow,  richly  as  he  deserves  pun- 
ishment. We  have  to  let  him  go  scot-free  with  his  blood- 
money.    It's  all  of  a  piece  with  the  paper-soled  boots,  the 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  145 

shoddy  overcoats,  the  mouldy  rations  which  have  been  fur- 
nished to  our  poor  boys  in  the  field,  not  seldom,  according 
to  rumor,  with  the  connivance  of  the  Government  officials 
themselves.  If  the  greedy  wretches  theorize  about  it  at  all, 
they  probably  tell  themselves  that  a  soldier  takes  his  life  in 
his  hands  anyhow,  and  that  therefore  it  makes  no  difference 
how  much  he  suffers  or  of  what  he  dies.  Not  the  least  de- 
pressing feature  of  it  is  that  these  are  instances  in  which 
treason  seems  to  be  going  to  prosper,  whatever  assurances 
we  have  to  the  contrary.  Rudd  and  all  the  rest  of  them  are 
without  doubt  making  money  hand  over  fist,  and  laying  the 
foundations  of  fortunes  that  will  last  to  the  third  and  fourth 
generations  of  them  that  hate  Him  and  keep  not  His  com- 
mandments ! '  He  adds  that  with  all  the  pressure  he  could 
exert,  and  pursuing  the  case  to  the  Supreme  Court,  the  ut- 
most penalty  —  if  any !  —  inflicted  on  Rudd  would  probably 
be  a  small  fine  —  small  actually,  as  well  as  relatively  to  the 
immense  sums  he  must  have  realized.  I  now  have  reason  to 
believe  that  he  contrived  in  some  underground  way  to  get 
several  shipments  through  our  lines  into  the  Confederacy 
where,  owing  to  the  blockade,  they  will  pay  for  quinine  or 
chloroform  at  its  weight  in  gold.  Was  that  all  this  false 
stuff,  too?  One  would  think  that  the  mountainous  profits  on 
the  genuine  drugs  might  have  satisfied  him ;  but  I  daresay  he 
betrayed  these  helpless  and  suffering  fellow-creatures,  too, 
without  a  pang.  Jim  Sharpless  would  say,  in  his  reckless 
fashion  that  it  was  this  sort  of  thing  that  laid  mankind  under 
the  necessity  of  inventing  Hell.  I  am  not  a  free-thinker  as 
Jim  is ;  I  have  always  believed  in  the  existence  of  some  Al- 
mighty Force  for  good,  though  it  were  only  spiritually,  in 
the  souls  of  men ;  I  have  always  thought  that  Hell  was  a 
mediaeval  bogy ;  but  it  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  me  -—  I  say 
this  in  solemn  earnest  —  to  think  that  Rudd  and  all  his  kind 
were  to  simmer  intolerably  in  the  fires  of  damnation  through 
all  Eternity." 

There  was  more  of  it;  the  doctor  had  probably  found  the 
writing  a  relief  from  the  sense  of  outrage  and  powerlessness. 
One  might  have  thought  that  he  exaggerated,  but  for  the 
nature  of  the  facts ;  no  upright  and  humane  man  on  earth  but 
would  have  felt  with  and  for  him.    Twenty  years  afterwards, 


146  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

when  he  was  over  seventy,  and  these  things  belonged  to  the 
past,  he  had  written  on  the  margin  of  a  page  in  script  that 
was  still  firm:  ''Jan.  19,  1881.  Have  just  been  re-reading 
these  notes  with  the  same  impotent  anger  as  the  day  they 
were  written.  To  be  sure  I  don't  feel  now  as  if  I  would  like 
personally  to  conduct  the  lynching  of  D.  Rudd  and  his  part- 
ners in  evil ;  at  the  time  I  would  have  been  glad  to  go  along 
and  haul  on  the  rope !  But  would  that  have  brought  back  to 
life  those  dead  babies,  those  brave  young  men?  Anyhow, 
Rudd's  gone  home  and  ta'en  his  wages;  there  were  notices 
of  his  death  in  all  the  papers  not  long  ago  —  quite  a  prom- 
inent citizen,  very  wealthy  and  philanthropic!  There  were 
liberal  bequests  to  half  a  score  of  charities  —  two  hospital- 
beds  endowed,  for  a  piece  of  irony.  What  kind  of  a  bed  was 
his  own?    Ferrei  Eumenidum  thalami!  " 

Steven  sat  over  the  journal  for  a  long  while;  he  was  aware 
that  the  butler  had  come  to  the  door  and  knocked  and  asked 
if  he  were  dining  at  home  and  that  he  had  answered  that  he 
had  an  engagement,  that  he  was  going  out,  he  scarcely  knew 
what.  Later  there  had  been  the  sound  of  the  automobile- 
door  slamming,  and  of  its  departure,  grinding  on  the  gravel 
under  his  windows;  his  father  and  mother  must  be  going 
somewhere  together.  After  another  while  it  began  to  be 
chilly ;  he  found  with  a  dull  surprise  that  the  fire  had  burned 
down  to  nothing,  there  was  only  a  handful  of  ashes  in  the 
cold  grate  before  which  he  was  sitting,  still  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves as  when  he  had  begun  to  read;  and  the  dawn  was 
coming  in  through  the  windows. 

He  put  the  books  aside,  and  got  up  and  walked  about  aim- 
lessly, pausing  in  front  of  familiar  objects  and  staring  at 
them  as  if  he  had  never  seen  them  before.  It  was  a  big 
room,  appointed  in  a  style  which  Mrs.  Rudd  imagined  to  be 
appropriately  masculine,  severe  and  restrained.  The  young 
man's  own  taste  was  not  very  definite  or  exacting;  and  the 
only  article  that  represented  it  was  a  dark,  carved,  wooden 
chest  which  he  had  seen  in  Florence,  and  fancied  and  bought. 
His  mother  had  received  it  with  mingled  admiration  and 
concern.  He  remembered  her  pretty  ejaculations:  "  It's 
beautiful,  Steve,  I'm  sure  it's  a  superb  old  piece  —  but  for 
your  bedroom!  It's  really  much  more  suitable  for  a  ball,  you 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  147 

know.  Never  mind,  though.  I'll  make  it  look  right,  if  we 
have  to  build  the  rest  of  the  room  around  it!  "  And  that 
was  what  Mrs.  Lawson  had  proceeded  to  do,  ruthlessly  exil- 
ing Steven  to  another  apartment,  bag  and  baggage,  to  his 
profound  amusement,  and  that  of  his  father,  while  she  con- 
sulted architects  and  decorators,  had  drawings  made,  sent  for 
samples  of  this  and  that,  and  spent  money  with  the  unre- 
mitting energy  which  she  always  brought  to  that  task. 
When  Steve  was  at  last  allowed  to  return  to  his  quarters,  the 
chest  was  fairly  lost  in  the  perfection  of  its  setting!  It  had 
become  a  mere  incident  in  the  gravely  sumptuous  chamber 
along  with  the  Italian  walnut  panelling,  the  floors  artfully 
blackened  to  simulate  antiquity,  the  high  stone  mantel,  the 
wonderfully  wrought  iron  fire-dogs  and  sconces,  the  heavy, 
simple,  incredibly  costly  furniture.  Steve  pretended  to  be 
pleased,  to  please  his  mother;  in  reality  he  felt  about  this 
little  excursion  in  decoration  very  much  as  did  his  father, 
who  freely  paid  the  bills.  Both  men  were  entertained,  but 
not  greatly  interested. 

Now,  however,  it  was  with  a  gloomy  eye  that  the  grand- 
son of  Rudd's  Specific  surveyed  his  expensive  belongings, 
which  that  compound,  no  matter  how  distantly  or  indirectly, 
had  enabled  him  to  own.  And  what  other  ghastly  profits  had 
he  to  thank  for  not  only  his  Florentine  chest  and  these  sur- 
rounding follies,  but  for  every  comfort,  every  indulgence, 
every  advantage,  in  the  whole  of  his  pampered  life,  the 
young  man  thought  bitterly.  He  had  had  a  hazy  idea  that 
the  Specific  or  the  Pancurata  had  been  one  product  of  the 
firm's  activities  in  early  days;  but  by  the  time  Steven  came 
to  the  office,  they  had  long  ceased  to  manufacture  it,  and  he 
had  never  even  seen  one  of  those  tall,  square-sided  bottles, 
much  less  tasted  the  thick,  dark,  syrupy  mixture  of  alcohol, 
opiates,  senna.  Heaven  knows  what,  which  they  contained. 
Once  indeed,  in  transient  curiosity,  he  asked:  "What  was 
that  stuff  my  grandfather  used  to  make  that  had  such  a 
sale?    Some  kind  of  tooth-wash,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  No,  it  was  more  on  the  order  of  a  tonic."  his  father  said; 
and  that  had  satisfied  Steve,  to  whom  his  grandfather's  times 
were  coeval  with  Adam's,  and  as  devoid  of  interest.  Yet  now 
this  doctor,  this  honest  John  Vardaman,  thundering  his  half- 


148  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

century-old  anathemas,  seemed  as  modern  as  to-day;  the 
sane  counsels  of  this  old  Burke  who  must  have  been  in  his 
grave  before  Steve  Rudd  was  born,  addressed  themselves  to 
the  young  man's  understanding  as  pointedly  as  if  the  ink 
were  not  yet  dry  on  them.  He  stood  confused  before  the 
discovery.  Every  generation  sits  in  judgment  on  its  prede- 
cessors, and  accords  mercy  on  the  plea  that  they  knew  no 
better.  But  they  did  know  better!  If  there  were  David 
Rudds  committing  acts  that  by  the  standards  of  posterity 
were  monstrous,  there  were  also  decent  men,  Burkes  and 
Vardamans,  who  condemned  them  in  their  own  era.  And 
how  about  David  himself?  Could  anybody  believe  that  he 
knew  no  better?  *'  One  would  think  that  the  profits  on  the 
real  drug  might  have  satisfied  him,"  Vardaman  wrote,  and 
Steve  recognized  and  shared  the  vain  perplexity,  the  sense 
of  defeat  with  which  honesty  speculates  about  dishonesty. 
Old  Burke,  who  might  or  might  not  have  been  a  brighter 
man  than  either  his  friend  the  doctor  or  our  friend  young 
Rudd,  had  had,  at  any  rate,  a  certain  illumination  when  he 
said:  "The  greedy  wretches  .  .  .  probably  tell  themselves 
that  a  soldier  takes  his  life  in  his  hands  anyhow  and  that 
therefore  it  makes  no  difference  how  much  he  suffers  or  of 
what  he  dies."  No  difference !  Steven  thought  of  the 
stricken  camps,  the  children,  the  doctors  haggardly  perse- 
vering, "poor  Moffat";  he  thought  of  those  other  camps, 
south  of  the  line,  paying  at  its  weight  in  gold  for  what  was 
not  worth  its  weight  in  sawdust.  He  felt  as  if  the  mark  of 
Cain  were  on  his  forehead. 

He  made  a  plan  to  get  his  father  alone  and  tell  him  of  the 
abhorrent  discovery  some  time  that  day;  and  upon  this  got 
to  bed  at  last  and  slept  fitfully,  though  unassailed  by  omi- 
nous dreams,  being  too  young  and  healthy,  and  on  the  whole 
too  well-balanced.  The  young  fellow  had,  somewhere  within 
him,  a  reserve  of  common-sense;  he  realized  that  no  part  of 
this  ancient  iniquity  could  be  charged  against  himself  or 
his  father,  so  long  as  neither  one  of  them  had  had  any  hand 
in  it,  or  even  knew  of  it.  None  the  less,  he  was  dominated 
by  the  feeling  that,  charged  or  not,  somebody  must  pay. 

When  he  came  downstairs  in  the  morning  with  the  Varda- 
man book  beneath  his  arm,  ready  to  take  to  the  office,  he 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  149 

unexpectedly  found  his  father  still  at  breakfast.  Mrs.  Law- 
son  was  never  visible,  even  to  her  husband  and  son,  until  well 
on  towards  the  middle  of  the  day;  she  breakfasted  in  bed 
and  spent  the  rest  of  the  time  in  scientific  attentions  to  her 
health  and  appearance,  with  the  help  of  her  maid,  supple- 
mented periodically,  when  the  problems  became  too  deep, 
by  professional  experts  from  down-town.  The  sunshine 
came  brightly  through  the  bay-window  where  the  natty 
white  table  was  laid;  there  was  a  fire  on  this  brisk  wintry 
morning,  and  above  the  handsome  plain  mantelpiece  might 
be  seen  a  life-size  portrait  in  oils  of  the  late  David  Rudd, 
gazing  upon  the  world  with  a  perfect  air  of  righteousness. 
His  first  wife  presided  over  the  sideboard.  On  another  wall 
there  was  a  charming  picture  of  Mrs.  Lawson  Rudd,  dia- 
mon_d-collared,  with  her  fine  neck  and  shoulders  showing; 
and  one  of  Lawson  himself,  a  good  likeness  though  naturally 
not  nearly  so  decorative,  faced  it.  The  original  of  this  last 
looked  up  w4th  a  half-articulate  good-morning. 

Steve  returned  it  and  sat  down  opposite  him,  and  the 
servant  brought  him  his  grape-fruit;  he  began  mechanically 
to  eat,  feeling  all  at  once  the  steadfast  order  of  their  lives 
closing  around  him  like  a  vise.  The  grip  benumbed  his 
imagination;  he  could  not  figure  what  would  happen  upon 
the  bursting  of  his  bomb-shell. 

"  Out  last  night,  Steve?  "  his  father  inquired  casually, 
but  with  the  mental  comment  that  the  boy's  eyes  looked  like 
two  holes  burned  in  a  blanket. 

"  No.    I  was  at  home.    I  just  didn't  want  any  dinner." 

"  Not  feeling  quite  right?  " 

"  No,  that  wasn't  it.    I  —  I  was  reading." 

"  Reading,  hey?  Must  have  been  one  of  those  Sherlock 
Holmes  stories,"  said  Mr.  Rudd,  and  laughed.  "  I've  sat 
up  pretty  late  over  them  myself,  but  I  don't  know  that  I 
ever  missed  a  meal  —  " 

"  You  can  read  what  I  was  reading,  too.  I  brought  it 
down  for  you  to  see,"  said  Steven,  feeling  as  if  he  were  set- 
ting the  match  to  his  fuse.  "  There  it  is,"  and  he  shoved  the 
book  towards  his  father  with  an  unconsciously  tragic  ges- 
ture. 

Mr.  Rudd  noted  the  tone,  the  movement,  the  only  half 


150  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

suppressed  disturbance  of  his  face,  with  wonderment.  The 
old  covers  of  the  diary  left  a  trail  of  discoloration  on  the 
table  cloth.  Bringing  his  eyes  down  to  it,  Lawson  read 
aloud:  "  '  J.  Vardaman.'  And  who  is  J.  Vardaman?  Why, 
it's  written!  It's  in  manuscript!  "  he  ejaculated,  as  he  fixed 
his  eyeglasses.  ''  What  on  earth  is  it,  Steven?  And  where 
on  earth  did  it  come  from?  " 

Steven  told  him  briefly,  and  Mr.  Rudd  nodded,  turning  the 
pages.  ''  Here's  a  place  with  a  book-mark.  Is  that  where 
you  want  me  to  read?  "  he  asked,  justifiably  mystified. 

''  I  think  you  ought  to  know  everything  that's  there. 
You'll  know  what  to  do  perhaps.    I  don't!  "  said  Steven. 

His  father  gave  him  another  look  of  complete  perplexity, 
but  began  the  task  without  further  inquiry.  Steven  pushed 
away  his  plate  and  sat  back  with  folded  arms,  watching 
him.  Mr.  Rudd  read  steadily,  and  after  a  page  or  two  and 
jm  occasional  word  of  explanation  from  Steven,  showed  in- 
terest enough,  though  apparently  he  had  no  intention  of 
abandoning  his  breakfast ;  Doctor  Vardaman's  tale  had  not 
affected  his  appetite  to  that  degree.  Sometimes  he  sat  with 
the  fork  poised,  while  he  read;  sometimes  he  gave  a  slight 
grunt  quite  impossible  of  interpretation;  and  it  could  be 
seen  that  he  went  over  some  of  the  passages  more  than  once. 
But  the  whole  process,  which  Steve  had  supposed  must  of 
necessity  be  a  lengthy  one,  took  the  older  man  only  half  an 
hour.  Lawson's  mind  moved  rapidly  and  accurately  by 
nature,  and  he  had  acquired  a  fine  facility  at  concentration. 
At  the  end  he  sat  for  a  full  minute  with  the  book  still  open 
at  the  last  entries,  considering  with  a  faint  frown. 

"  Who  was  this  Burke  that  the  old  fellow  kept  referring 
to?  "  he  asked  at  length.    "  Any  relation  to  your  friends?  " 

"  He  was  Major  Burke's  father.  You  know  I  told  you 
about  that  biography  of  him  they're  trying  to  get  up,"  Steve 
managed  to  answer  after  an  instant  of  helpless  surprise.  He 
did  not  know  how  he  had  expected  his  father  to  act,  but 
that  the  elder  Rudd  should  meet  the  revelations  unmoved 
except  by  a  casual  curiosity  as  to  the  identity  of  the  Burke 
quoted,  was  unthinkable. 

''  I  expect  he  was  a  pretty  sound  lawyer,"  said  Lawson 
reflectively,  rubbing  his  chin,  still  gazing  at  the  book.  "  There 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  151 

were  some  very  good  men  in  the  old  days  at  the  Bar  up  there 
in  the  centre  of  the  State.  Ohio  used  to  have  quite  a  repu- 
tation in  that  line." 

"  Vardaman  must  have  been  a  pretty  good  doctor,  too, 
don't  you  think?  "  Steve  suggested,  with  an  effort. 

''  Oh,  I've  no  doubt.  And  he  had  a  hard  job,  too  —  mighty 
hard!" 

Steven,  staring  at  the  older  man's  undisturbed  face,  ex- 
perienced a  flash  of  immeasurable  relief.  "  All  that  he  says 
there  about  the  quinine  and  —  and  my  grandfather  —  I 
suppose  that's  some  mistake?  "  he  said  eagerly,  hopefully. 
He  could  almost  have  laughed  at  himself  for  not  thinking  of 
that  before.  What  a  fool  he  had  been!  Doctor  Vardaman 
was  not  infallible. 

But  Mr.  Rudd  made  a  little  negative  movement  of  the 
head.  "  No.  It  was  all  true,  I'm  sorry  to  say.  That  is,  the 
doctor  had  his  facts  correct  in  the  main."  There  was  no 
doubting  the  sincerity  of  his  regret.  He  shook  his  head 
again  as  he  added:  "  Not  a  pleasant  or  creditable  business 
to  be  connected  with,  or  to  think  about,  even  at  this  distance 
of  time.    Bygones  are  bygones,  of  course,  but  still  —  " 

After  a  silence,  Steven  said:  "You  knew  about  it 
already?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  his  father,  shutting  the  book  and  pushing 
it  across  the  table.  The  look  on  the  other's  face  may  have 
moved  him  to  add  quickly:  ''Not  at  the  time,  of  course^ 
Steve.    At  the  time,  I  was  only  nine  or  ten  years  old." 

"  How  did  you  find  out?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"  Why,  your  Uncle  Elihu  told  me,  after  we  were  both 
grown  men.  I  don't  believe  I  ever  asked  El  how  he  found 
out,"  said  Mr.  Rudd,  visibly  searching  his  memory,  and  giv- 
ing up  the  question.  ^'  I've  a  kind  of  notion,  though,  that  the 
old  gentleman  told  him  himself,  not  long  before  he  died. 
Anyhow,  your  uncle  told  me,  w^hen  I  came  home  from  col- 
lege and  went  into  the  ofifice,  and  I  don't  remember  that 
we've  ever  mentioned  it  since." 

"  What  did  he  do?  Uncle  Elihu,  I  mean.  What  did  he 
do?" 

"  Do?  "  echoed  Steve's  father,  staring.    "  Why,  nothing!  " 

^'Nothing?  "  the  young  man  cried  out  harshly.  "  Didn't 
you  do  anything,  either?  " 


152  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  No,  Steven,"  said  his  father,  still  staring. 

Steven  started  up,  shoving  the  chair  back  with  a  violent 
movement,  so  that  it  tilted  over,  clattering  against  the 
window-sill ;  he  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room.  His 
father  eyed  him  attentively,  with  curiosity  and  a  certain 
concern. 

"  Was  that  what  kept  you  up  last  night,  Steve?  "  he  asked 
kindly.    "  Reading  that  old  diary?  " 

Steven  came  to  a  halt  in  front  of  him.  "  This  thing  is 
monstrous  —  it's  monstrous!  "  he  said,  trying  to  steady  his 
voice. 

"  I'm  not  defending  it,  Steven,"  said  Mr.  Rudd.  He  had 
no  trouble  with  his  voice ;  thirty  years  of  iron  self-discipline 
controlled  it  for  him,  almost  without  conscious  effort.  He 
reached  out,  and  set  the  chair  in  place  again,  as  he  was 
speaking. 

"But  you  haven't  done  anything!  You've  never  done 
anything !  You  take  it  out  in  perfunctory  regrets.  You  — 
you  —  "  Steve  stammered  incoherently.  Suddenly  he  found 
himself  without  words;  a  passion  of  outraged  justice 
possessed  him,  but,  alas,  it  put  no  weapons  into  his  hands. 
He  saw  the  older  man  almost  as  an  enemy,  sitting  secure  in 
his  superiority  of  age,  his  experience  in  dealing  with  men, 
buttressed  with  the  patience  and  reasonableness  that  some- 
how build  a  stone  wall  in  an  instant. 

"  Don't  shout!  "  said  Lawson,  raising  a  hand  in  warning. 
^'  I  can  hear  you  without  your  shouting,  and  the  servants 
don't  need  to."  He  paused,  humanely  giving  the  young  man 
a  chance  to  collect  himself,  studying  him  meanwhile,  but 
without  offence;  on  the  contrary  there  was  something  very 
frank  and  manly  and  sympathetic  in  the  look  Lawson  bent 
on  his  son.  He  went  on:  "  Let's  talk  this  over,  Steve.  I 
think  I  understand  how  you  feel;  at  least  I'm  trying  to. 
You  think  your  grandfather  did  a  great  wrong.  Well,  he 
did.  He  did.  But  he  wasn't  the  only  one,  nor  the  worst 
one.  Men  thought  and  acted  differently  in  those  days  —  " 
*'  You  can't  tell  me  that,  father  —  and  you  might  as  well 
stop  telling  yourself  that,"  said  Steven.  "  There  were  honest 
men  and  rascals  fifty  years  ago  just  the  same  as  now,  and 
anybody  could  have  his  choice  which  he'd  be,  the  same  as 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  153 

now.  Maybe  they  had  different  opportunities  —  bigger  ones. 
And  maybe  bigger  chances  beget  bigger  criminals.  What's 
that  got  to  do  with  David  Rudd?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,  I  admit,"  said  Lawson.  "  If  I  try  to 
make  excuses  for  your  grandfather,  and  if  I  refrain  from 
calling  him  those  ugly  names  you  have  just  used,  it  is  be- 
cause —  " 

''  Because  he  got  away  with  it,  I  suppose,"  Steve  said 
savagely.  ''  Because  he  was  sharp  enough  to  play  safe.  Be- 
cause he  fixed  it  so  he  wouldn't  be  found  out,  or  couldn't  be 
brought  to  account,  anyway." 

"  No,"  said  the  older  man,  still  guardedly  temperate.  "  It 
is  because  he  was  my  father,  Steven." 

There  seemed  to  be  no  retort  to  this  simple  statement;  in 
fact,  it  did  not  pretend  to  be  an  argument,  yet  was  far  more 
potent,  calling  up  a  host  of  ancient  decencies  and  obligations. 
Steven's  father  probably  gauged  its  effect  accurately;  after 
waiting  a  minute  with  obvious  careful  fairness  for  the 
younger  man  to  answer,  and  seeing  —  as  he  doubtless  ex- 
pected —  that  poor  Steve  was  momentarily  out  of  ammuni- 
tion, he  said:  ''  As  near  as  I  can  make  out,  you  think  that  as 
soon  as  your  Uncle  Elihu  and  I  found  out  about  this  dis- 
creditable transaction,  we  ought  to  have  done  something  by 
way  of  expiation,  or  reparation.    Is  that  it?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I  think,"  said  Steven,  trying,  not  very 
successfully,  to  emulate  his  elder's  impersonal  calm. 

"  Well,  what?  What  sort  of  reparation  could  we  have 
made,  and  to  whom?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Steven  said  gloomily.  "  It's  just  as 
Doctor  Vardaman  said:  nobody  could  give  the  dead  people, 
the  children  and  all  of  them,  nobody  could  give  them  back 
their  lives.  But  what  I  can't  understand  is  how  you  could 
complacently  go  on  enjoying  all  that  money  after  you  knew 
it  was  gotten  in  this  vile  way!  You  act  just  as  if  you  had 
a  right  to  it  —  as  if  how  it  was  made  were  of  no  conse- 
quence. Oh,  I  know  it  isn't  the  very  same  identical  dollars 
and  cents  that  the  old  man  robbed  and  swindled  and  —  yes, 
murdered  for  —  it's  not  that  actual  money,  but  it  all  came 
from  that.  In  the  old  days  people  would  have  been  afraid 
there  was  a  curse  on  it.    You  didn't  care.    You  kept  right  on 


154  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

with  it,  turning  it  over,  making  it  breed  more  money  for 
you.    How  could  you  be  satisfied,  how  could  you  go  on  —  " 

''  I  don't  see  that  getting  rid  of  it  in  some  fantastic  fashion, 
impoverishing  myself  and  my  family,  would  have  been  a 
very  practical  measure,"  said  Lawson. 

''  Oh,  you  can  out-talk  me,  of  course!  "  said  Steve,  walk- 
ing about  in  a  desperate  effort  at  self-command.  "  You've 
done  it  before.  You're  a  specialist  in  wire-drawn  distinc- 
tions between  right  and  wrong  —  you  can  easily  get  me 
muddled.  I  suppose  your  idea  is  that  as  long  as  a  man 
manages  to  keep  out  of  the  penitentiary,  he's  as  moral  as 
they  make  'em.  Nobody  needs  to  be  any  more  honest  than 
the  circumstances  permit!"  said  the  young  fellow,  fero- 
ciously quoting  old  Daniel  Garrard.  ''  Impoverish  your- 
self! Impoverish  nothing!  You  could  have  started  all  over 
again  without  a  cent  and  inside  of  five  years,  you'd  have 
been  just  as  well  off  as  ever.  Impoverish  your  family?  Why, 
don't  you  suppose  that  we'd  all  rather  have  gone  without 
than  lived  in  luxury  inherited  from  that  old  Judas?  Why 
didn't  you  tell  us,  and  give  us  a  chance  —  ?  " 

Mr.  Rudd  rose  up  in  his  turn,  at  last  betraying  something 
like  impatience.  ''I'd  ask  you  to  be  reasonable,  only  it 
would  be  like  asking  you  to  have  a  sense  of  humor,"  he  said, 
bitingly.  *'  You're  as  childish  as  Eugene,  working  yourself 
up  into  these  hysterics  over  nothing — " 

Steve  stopped  abruptly  in  his  pacing;  he  looked  at  his 
father  hard.  "  This  is  enlightening,"  he  said  at  length.  "  I 
see  now  why  Eugene  broke  with  you.  He  found  out,  too! 
Somehow  I  thought  there  was  something  more  behind  it  — 
something  besides  his  drinking." 

''  I  am  not  going  to  discuss  Eugene  with  you,"  said  his 
father  with  a  kind  of  caustic  deliberation.  "  I'm  not  going 
to  discuss  anything  with  you,  until  you  get  into  a  frame  of 
mind  more  nearly  resembling  sanity."  And  hereupon  the 
head  of  the  house  of  Rudd  walked  out  of  the  room  and 
down  the  steps  and  into  the  waiting  automobile  which  rolled 
him  away  officewards  with,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  flags 
flying  and  all  the  honors  of  war. 

He  could  even  laugh  a  little  as  he  reviewed  the  encounter. 
"  Tainted  money  "  was  a  phrase  going  the  rounds  of  the  press 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  155 

just  then,  and  Lawson  told  himself  that  the  boy  had  merely 
taken  up  that  catchword.  He  was  quite  eloquent  and  enter- 
taining on  the  subject  at  the  luncheon-table  at  the  irre- 
proachable club  where  he  and  a  handful  of  cronies  gathered 
every  day.  It  was  a  dim,  wealthy,  fastidious  place  with 
elderly  w^aiters,  a  well-known  cuisine,  Victorian  traditions  of 
exclusiveness. 

''  The  young  people,"  said  Lawson,  over  his  sherry  cock- 
tail; ''  are  forever  finding  out  all  of  a  sudden  tlmt  everything 
is  not  invariably  for  the  best  in  this  best  of  all  possible 
worlds,  and  without  stopping  to  observe  that  human  beings 
can't  be  perfect —  " 

"  Be  a  deuce  of  a  tiresome  place  if  they  were!  "  somebody 
grunted. 

"  Quite  so !  But,  without  stopping  to  see  that  great  funda- 
mental truth,  and  without  noticing  that,  as  it  is,  w^e're  a  good 
deal  of  an  improvement  over  previous  generations,  and  are 
going  on  improving  slowly  but  surely  —  without  knowing  or 
noticing  these  facts,  they  immediately  go  screaming  around, 
wanting  everything  to  be  set  right,  and  everybody  to  re- 
form, according  to  their  standards." 

"  Take  off  your  coat  and  give  it  to  your  neighbor,  hey? 
There's  something  about  that  in  the  Bible,  isn't  there?  " 
said  the  other  man.  "  And  w^hat  would  the  neighbor  do 
with  his  coat,  logically?  Looks  as  if  there  would  be  a  grand 
swapping  around  of  coats!  "  He  eyed  Lawson's  well-cut 
suit  appreciatively.  "  Would  you  throw  in  the  pants,  Law- 
son?  "  Whereat  the  whole  table  grinned,  and  their  talk 
presently  passed  to  other  matters. 

Steven  did  not  turn  up  at  the  office,  a  fact  which  nowise 
surprised  his  father.  "  The  boy  has  some  sense  of  humor 
after  all  —  and  that's  the  next  thing  to  common-sense,"  he 
thought  with  a  mingling  of  amusement,  regret,  tolerance. 
When  all  was  said,  there  was  something  fine  and  high  about 
the  young  man's  fiery  foolishness;  if  they  must  quarrel  — 
and  occasional  quarrels  seemed  inevitable  between  the  aver- 
age parents  and  the  average  children,  Lawson  told  himself 
philosophically  —  he  would  rather  it  were  over  this  piece  of 
dead-and-gone  knavery,  than  upon  the  ignoble  subjects  of 
such  quarrels  in  general:  idleness,  low  dissipations,  money 


156  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

or  property.  "  He'll  get  over  this  Sir  Galahad  feeling  di- 
rectly. He'll  realize  that  I  myself  have  always  acted 
decently  and  been  square,  no  matter  what  the  poor  old 
gentleman  did  —  which  can't  be  undone  at  this  date,"  the 
father  thought;  and  with  a  half-smile:  "  Fancy  my  telling 
his  mother!  And  all  of  us  going  and  living  in  a  tenement- 
house  until  I  got  on  my  feet  again!  " 

When  he  reached  home,  Mrs.  Rudd  was  out  as  usual,  at 
a  tea  perhaps.  Lawson  did  not  see  her  until  he  came  down 
into  the  drawing-room  dressed  for  dinner,  a  little  early; 
there  was  Mrs.  Lawson,  elegant  as  a  Romney  portrait,  in  a 
trained  afternoon  toilette,  with  a  great  muff,  and  with  a  long, 
eminently  becoming  fur  scarf  disengaging  gracefully  from 
her  shoulders,  while  she  held  converse  with  the  butler.  She 
turned  her  amazingly  fresh,  youthful  face  towards  him 
with  a  little  cry  of  exaggerated  horror.  "  Mercy,  Lawson, 
are  you  ready  already?  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late.  I  must 
fly !  What's  this  sudden  departure  of  Steve's  about?  Does 
he  have  to  go  to  New  York  on  business?  Why,  he's  getting 
to  be  quite  important,  isn't  he?  " 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  Astorbilt  model  tenement  called  St.  John's  Build- 
ings is  situated,  as  nearly  all  the  other  half  of  the 
world  knows,  on  a  street  towards  the  upper  end  and 
east  side  of  Manhattan  Island,  within  shouting  distance  of 
either  Avenue  A  or  the  river.  It  takes  up  most  of  the 
square,  and  being  of  the  latest  fireproof  and  sanitary  con- 
struction, with  w^alls  of  dressed  stone,  a  great,  broad-arched 
entrance  through  which  any  number  of  delivery-wagons 
may  drive  abreast,  and  an  inner  court  whence  iron  stairways 
ascend  to  the  upper  floors,  it  has  a  foreign,  mediaeval  look 
not  unpleasing  and  assuredly  not  often  met  with  amongst 
tenements.  Mr.  Steven  Rudd,  for  whom  that  last  word 
evoked,  as  with  most  of  us,  a  hazy  picture  of  tumbledown 
wooden  rookeries,  slatternly  women,  unhallowed  garments 
strung  on  clothesline,  or  festooned  out  of  the  windows,  an- 
cient garbage-cans,  terrifically  soiled  babies  —  young  Mr. 
Rudd,  I  say,  arriving  one  cold  afternoon  via  the  Third  Ave- 
nue Elevated  and  a  walk  across  town,  was  infinitely  sur- 
prised and  impressed  by  the  spectacle  of  St.  John's.  To  be 
sure,  there  were  milk-bottles  and  more  or  less  dubious  bed- 
ding airing  on  some  of  the  fire-escapes,  and  derelict  papers 
rustled  about  the  enclosure  where  a  push-cart  man  was 
carrying  on  a  thriving  trade  from  window  to  window;  but 
these  details  contributed  a  local  color  without  which,  Steve 
thought,  the  place  would  have  been  almost  more  of  a  model 
than  one  cared  to  see  — too  good  to  be  true.  He  had  the 
human  dislike  of  perfection.  Looking  about,  he  found  a 
small,  particular  door,  and  a  small  round-topped  window 
with  a  grille,  behind  which  might  be  divined  some  sort  of 
ofiice,  where  in  more  lordly  institutions  a  janitor  would  have 
been  installed.  Through  the  window  he  could  make  out  a 
desk,  a  high  stool,  a  key-rack;  and  in  answer  to  his  ring  there 
appeared  sure  enough  an  authoritative-looking  person  in 

157 


158  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

overalls,  with  a  pipe  and  furthermore  with  that  universal 
badge  and  sign  of  the  janitor's  profession,  a  monkey-wrench. 

"  Good-morr-rnin' !  "  said  this  official  in  a  richly  Hiber- 
nian accent,  adding,  after  an  appreciable  interval,  manifestly 
on  that  second  thought  which  is  rumored  to  be  always  best: 

"Sor!  "  And  meanwhile  he  promenaded  his  eyes,  in  the 
highly  descriptive  Gallic  idiom,  over  the  young  man  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  Does  Mr.  Eugene  Rudd  live  here?  "  Steve  asked. 

''  He  does!  "  said  the  other,  winding  up  with  an  exhaustive 
survey  of  Steve's  Bond  Street  valise,  standing  on  the  pave- 
ment alongside.  "  Sor!  "  he  added,  as  before.  "  Up  th'  firrst 
landin';  it's  th'  dure  to  yer  rright."  He  replaced  his  pipe, 
but  as  Steven  made  a  motion,  took  it  out  again  to  remark, 
with  a  manner  nicely  balanced  between  inquiry  and  accusa- 
tion: "  Ye  know  him?  " 

"  Why,  yes.    Yes,  of  course  I  know  him." 

"Well  thin,  ye  know  him!  "  said  the  other  cryptically. 
"  He's  in.  He's  been  in  a  matter  of  a  coupla  da-ays  forbye. 
Ye  wouldn't  be  th'  gintleman  thot  was  phonin'  two-three 
times?  " 

"  No.  I'm  a  relative.  I've  just  got  here,"  said  Steven,  his 
face  clouding.  For  some  reason  —  or  rather  for  no  reason! 
—  he  had  confidently  expected  to  find  Eugene  sober,  ready 
with  his  tireless  and  boundless  sympathy  to  listen,  to  be 
interested,  to  agree,  to  advise ;  and  the  hint  conveyed  in  the 
above  statements  was  infinitely  disheartening.  Perhaps  the 
warden  of  St.  John's  read  as  much  in  the  young  man's  face 
for  he  said  quickly,  with  true  Irish  good  feeling,  "  He's  all 
rr-ight  by  now,  I'm  thinkin'.  Sure  ye'll  foind  him  all  rright. 
Loikely  as  not  'twas  wan  of  thim  colds  he  has  by  times. 
Turrible  he  has  'em!  " 

"  He's  lived  here  a  good  while?  "  said  Steven. 

The  janitor  said  he  had  thot!  Sivin  years  Mister  R-rudd 
was  livin'  there,  and  as  fine  a  gintleman  entirely  —  He  was 
still  talking  when  Steve  reached  the  door  on  the  first  land- 
ing, having  in  his  undue  hurry  omitted  a  small  ceremony 
which  the  other  for  his  part  probably  had  in  mind  very 
distinctly,  for  it  was  not  without  disappointment  that  he 
looked  after  the  young  man  —  a  young  man  who,  by  his 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  159 

appearance  should  have  both  pockets  lined  with  money,  and 
to  whom  a  bit  of  a  tip  would  mean  nothing! 

Steven  rang,  and  in  a  moment  heard  a  steady  enough  step 
across  the  floor  inside;  and  Eugene  himself  opened  the  door. 
"  Laundry?  "  he  called  out,  extending  a  hand  with  a  coin  in 
the  palm.    "  Got  change  for  a  dollar?  " 

His  voice  w\as  reassuringly  clear  —  as  clear,  that  is  to 
say,  as  Eugene's  voice  ever  was;  it  must  have  been  many  a 
year  since  the  poor  scapegrace's  tones  or  enunciation  had 
been  those  nature  bestowed  upon  him  at  the  beginning  of 
his  ill-starred  career.  Steve,  though  he  could  see  the  other's 
face  only  imperfectly  in  the  half-light,  felt  a  good  deal  re- 
lieved and  heartened,  and  said:  "No,  it's  not  the  laundry. 
Hello,  Eugene!" 

At  the  words  Eugene  started  and  peered  at  him  and  peered 
again;  he  exclaimed  aloud,  falling  back  a  step.  "  Steven!  "  he 
shouted,  and  like  the  janitor,  eyed  Steve  all  over,  but  as  one 
unable  to  trust  his  own  vision.  He  looked  around  the  young 
man,  and  down  and  up  the  courtyard  with  its  serried  win- 
dows, as  if  expecting  to  find  an  answer  there  to  the  riddle  of 
this  apparition.  "  Steven!  What  the  —  ?  "  Words  left  him; 
he  could  only  stand  and  stare. 

*'  May  I  come  in?  "  said  Steve. 

Eugene  mechanically  held  the  door  open,  and  as  Steven 
stepped  within,  mechanically  closed  it.  In  another  second, 
however,  he  recovered  enough  to  ask:  "  For  the  Lord's  sake, 
Steve,  what  are  you  doing  here?  " 

"  Why,  you  invited  me  to  come  and  see  you  any  time  I 
was  in  New  York,  didn't  you?  "  Steve  reminded  him.  "  Well, 
here  I  am!  "  He  set  the  valise  down  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor. 

Eugene's  eyes  followed  the  movement,  then  returned  to 
dwell  on  him  a  long  instant.  Then  he  said  quite  collectedly 
now:  "All  right!     But  what's  happened?" 

Neither  of  them  thought  of  shaking  hands  in  the  flurry  of 
the  meeting;  and  it  was  now  Steve's  turn  to  be  taken  aback. 
The  quickness  and  accuracy  of  the  other's  intuitions  some- 
how caught  him  unaware. 

"  '  What's  happened?  '  "  he  echoed,  with  an  attempt  at 
jocularity.    "  What  makes  you  think  anything's  happened? 


160  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

Is  it  phenomenal  for  you  to  have  a  visitor  in  St.  John's 
Buildings?  " 

"  A  little,"  Eugene  retorted,  good-humoredly.  "  You  see 
I'm  not  under  any  illusions  about  the  attractiveness  of  my 
way  of  life,  or  the  place  where  I  live  it.  What's  it  all  about, 
anyhow,  Steven?  Here,  wait  a  minute!  Sit  down,  get  your 
coat  off.    I've  got  some  coffee  on  the  stove  —  " 

He  vanished  abruptly  into  an  inner  room,  whence  there 
issued  at  the  moment  a  prodigious  hissing  sound  of  some- 
thing boiling  over,  accompanied  by  a  cloud  of  agreeably 
odorous  steam.  Steven  obeyed  him,  looking  around  mean- 
while. Eugene's  particular  tenement  appeared  to  consist  of 
three  cubicles  arranged  side  by  side ;  the  main  room  in  which 
Steven  was  sitting,  and  by  inference  each  of  the  others, 
measured  about  eight  by  twelve  feet,  and  had  a  single  win- 
dow at  the  outside  end;  next  to  it  was  the  kitchen,  as  he 
judged  by  Eugene's  activities  and  by  glimpses  of  a  gas- 
range,  a  sink,  a  laundry-tub,  some  shelving,  all  of  doU's- 
house  dimensions;  beyond,  presumably,  there  was  a  bed- 
room. Steven,  taking  stock  of  the  immediate  surroundings, 
found  them  of  monastic  simplicity  and  cleanliness.  There 
were  bare  walls,  a  bare  floor,  a  solid  old  black  table,  a  case  of 
books,  two  chairs;  but  a  row  of  geraniums  flaming  in  their 
stoneware  pots  enlivened  the  window-sill. 

'^  Had  your  breakfast?  "  Eugene  asked,  coming  back  with 
the  coffee-pot  in  one  hand  and  a  tray  in  the  other. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  on  the  train.    Haven't  you  had  yours?  " 

"  I  never  take  anything  but  this  coffee,"  said  Eugene.  He 
set  the  apparatus  down  on  the  table,  shoving  aside  the  pipes 
and  papers  collected  at  that  end,  sat  down  himself  in  the  re- 
maining chair,  and  poured  a  cup.  The  tray  and  pot  and 
cream- jug  were  of  pewter,  possibly  antique,  meticulously 
clean,  winking  with  polish.  "  I  had  just  finished  dressing 
when  you  came,"  he  said.  "  Finished  shaving  —  with  the 
edge-razor,"  he  added  dryly,  and  took  a  sip.  "  It's  rather 
lucky  you  didn't  come  a  day  or  so  ago." 

''  That  wouldn't  have  made  any  difference  to  me,"  said 
Steven,  awkwardly. 

Eugene  shrugged.  "  What  made  you  come,  anyhow?  You 
have  an  air  of  unpremeditated  adventure.    You  look  as  if,  in 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  161 

plain  language,  you  were  completely  and  entirely  on  your 
own." 

''  Well,  I  am.  It's  queer  how  you  guessed  that  right  away." 

Eugene  eyed  him  over  the  rim  of  the  cup.  "  Not  so  very 
queer,"  he  said  with  a  grin.  "  But  what's  up?  Have  the 
Rudd  Chemicals  gone  bust  all  of  a  sudden?  Chemicals  are 
unreliable  explosive  sort  of  stuff  at  best.  Don't  you  know 
where  your  next  dollar  is  to  come  from?  " 

''  No,  and  I  don't  care  so  long  as  it's  not  one  of  their 
damned  dollars!  "  said  Steven,  with  a  violence  which  might 
have  been  melodramatic  if  it  had  not  expressed  so  genuine 
and  deep-seated  a  feeling.  Eugene  put  down  the  cup,  and 
dropped  his  hands  on  his  knees ;  he  was  opening  his  mouth  on 
a  question  when  Steve  forestalled  him  with  a  torrent  of 
words. 

''  I  found  out  something.  It  was  an  accident  —  nobody 
told  me  —  I  found  it  out.  I  mean  Father  and  Uncle  Elihu 
didn't  tell  me.  They  would  never  have  told  me.  But  I 
'don't  believe  it's  ever  any  good  to  try  to  hide  things  like 
that;  there's  that  old  saying,  murder  will  out!  I  stumbled 
on  this  —  just  stumbled  on  it.  Eugene,  you  know  what  it 
was !  Of  course  you  never  told  me  either ;  you  thought  you 
ought  not  to,  in  your  position  —  or  maybe  you  thought  I 
knew  already,  like  the  rest  of  them.  I  didn't.  I  never  imag- 
ined such  iniquity  —  and  for  the  sake  of  money!  It's  re- 
volting. As  soon  as  I  found  out,  I  felt  just  the  way  you  must 
have.  I  felt  I  couldn't  touch  another  cent  of  it.  ^  I  told 
Father.  We  had  a  sort  of  scene  —  the  whole  business  is 
unspeakable  —  degrading.  He  said  I  reminded  him  of  you; 
that's  how  I  discovered  you  knew  about  the  thing,  too.  So 
then  I  got  out.  I've  come  here  to  you.  I  knew  you'd  under- 
stand." 

Eugene's  features,  which  had  reflected  only  variations  of 
astonishment  and  inquiry  during  most  of  this  wild  harangue, 
brightened  and  softened  indefinably  towards  the  end  of  it. 
There  was  tenderness,  and  fellow-feeling,  too,  in  his  look. 
"  You  wouldn't  stand  for  the  Metaderma,  either,  Steve?  I 
thought  they'd  quit  making  that  old  stuff.  But  you  wouldn't 
stand  for  it  either,  hey?  Well,  well,  poor  Lawson!  "  he  ejac- 
ulated with  a  kind  of  whimsical  and  humane  irony. 

M 


162  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

''  The  Metaderma?  You  mean  the  Pancurata.  Why,  they 
have  stopped  making  it.  Of  course  that  was  a  shameful 
swindle,  too.  I  didn't  know  anything  about  it  —  I  never 
thought  about  what  it  really  must  have  been.  But  this  has 
opened  my  eyes.  No,  I'm  not  talking  about  that  but  about 
the  other,  Eugene.    The  quinine  —  " 

''  The  quinine?  "  repeated  Eugene,  vacantly.  But  Steven 
did  not  notice;  he  went  on  talking,  going  over  the  same  thing 
restlessly  and  miserably,  making  motions  to  get  up  and  stride 
about  the  room,  but  restrained  at  every  impulse  by  the 
patent  fact  that  one  stride  would  bring  him  up  all  standing 
against  a  wall!  There  resulted  a  series  of  abortive  jack-m- 
the-box  movements  which  might  have  been  comic  if  the 
young  fellow's  suffering  had  not  been  so  real.  At  least 
Eugene  Rudd  was  not  moved  to  laughter;  he  sat  with  his 
hands  on  his  knees,  listening  in  a  state  of  perplexity  that  at 
last  became  visible  and  unmistakable  even  to  Steven. 

''  What's  the  matter?  You  look  so  —  oh,  I  forgot  I  hadn't 
told  you  yet  how  I  found  out,"  he  said,  halting  in  the  middle 
of  another  speech.  "  I  didn't  think  how  queer  it  would  sound 
to  you,  after  my  expressly  saying  that  nobody  told  me.  They 
told  you,  I  suppose." 

''  They  told  me  a  lot  of  things,"  said  Eugene,  hesitatmg 
slightly.  "I  — I  don't  believe  they  told  me  everything, 
though." 

"  Yes,  but  you're  so  quick,  you  guessed,  didn't  you? 

"  I  didn't  have  to  do  much  guessing,"  said  Eugene,  grimly. 

''  Well,  I  found  out  for  myself,  in  the  strangest  way.  You'd 
never  believe  —  !  It's  as  if  some  fate  or  destiny  or  —  well  — 
the  hand  of  God  were  in  it,"  said  Steven,  bringing  out  the 
last  shrinkingly.  ''  I  — I  don't  believe  in  religion  —  creeds 
—  all  that,  you  know.  I  don't  quite  know  what  I  do  believe 
in  —  a  person  doesn't  talk  about  it.  It  seems  as  if  there  must 
be  Something  higher  than  ourselves,  but  whether  It  would 
interfere  in  this  way  —  ?  Too  much  like  some  kind  of 
juggling  —  and  I'm  not  so  important,  anyhow.  Only  the 
sins  of  the  fathers  do  get  visited  on  the  children,  once  in  a 
while,  maybe.  But  you'd  think  the  best  way  would  have 
been  to  stop  the  wrong-doing  in  the  beginning.  Well !  —  " 
he  gave  up  the  problem  with  a  hopeless  gesture.  ''  Anyhow, 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  163 

the  way  I  found  out  was  this:  —  "  And  he  forthwith  plunged 
into  the  story  of  Doctor  Vardaman's  diary,  to  which  Eugene 
listened  with  even  more  interest  than  was  to  be  looked  for. 
*' i  couldn't  do  anything  else,  you  see.  I  couldn't  go  on  liv- 
ing on  that  money!  "  Steven  declared  again  at  the  end. 

The  other  was  not  so  responsive  as  Steven  had  expected; 
indeed  Eugene  could  scarcely  be  said  to  respond  at  all.  He 
merely  looked  thoughtful  and  more  or  less  troubled,  and 
when  at  length  he  did  speak,  his  words  seemed  startlingly 
inadequate.  ''  Thev  were  a  bad  lot,  some  of  the  busmess- 
men  of  that  generation.  Some,  not  all!  This  quinine  cheat, 
though  — you  couldn't  go  much  lower  than  that.  Still,  I 
don't  see  what's  to  be  done  about  it  now,  Steven." 

"Why,  that's  almost  exactly  what  Father  said!"  cried 
out  Steven,  after  an  instant  of  bewilderment.  "  You  don't 
mean  to  uphold  him  —  after  breaking  with  him  for  this  very 

thing?"  ,,    ^      ^    , 

'*  I'm  older  now,"  said  Eugene.  But,  as  self-absorbed  as 
Steven  was,  the  studious  indirectness  of  this  reply,  of  some 
of  Eugene's  other  replies,  perhaps  some  unguarded  or  over- 
guarded  expression  on  his  face,  struck  a  new  idea  like  a 
sword  into  the  younger  man's  mind.  ^ 

"  Eugene,  you  didn't  know  about  this!    You  didnt  know 

about  it  after  all ! "  ^        ,         i    ..x  j 

"  Why,  I  — I  — no,  I  didn't,  Steven,"  the  other  admitted. 
"  I  didn't  mean  to  lead  you  on  to  talk  and  tell  me  about  it 

either,  but  — "  .  •     ^        « v 

Steven  cut  him  short,  gesticulating  impatiently.  ^  You 
couldn't  have  stopped  me.  And  you've  got  as  good  a  right  to 
know  as  the  rest  of  us,  anyway.  But  do  you  mean  to  say 
you  hadn't  any  suspicion  of  it,  even?  " 

Eugene  shook  his  head.  ''  Nobody  ever  told  me,  either. 
Thev  wouldn't,  naturally." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  while  Steve  adjusted  his  mind 
to  this  new  angle;  what  Eugene's  was  busy  with,  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  guess.  He  musingly  considered  the 
younger  Rudd,  and  finished  drinking  his  coffee. 

''  Well  then,  if  you  never  found  out  about  the  counterfeit 
quinine,  what  made  you  break  away?  What  did  you  find 
out?  "  Steven  demanded  at  length. 


164  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

The  other  man  answered  with  deliberate  harshness.  "  I 
didn't  need  to  find  out  anything."  He  spread  his  arms 
wide  in  a  gesture  that  offered  his  entire  self,  body  and  soul, 
past  and  present,  to  public  scrutiny  and  valuation.  "  Do 
you  blame  them?  " 

There  might  have  been  a  time  when  Steven  would  have 
been  silenced  by  such  a  hint;  but  now  the  young  man 
doubted.  Dormant  memories  sprang  to  life,  thrusting  upon 
him  scraps  of  his  father's  talk,  of  Eugene's  own  talk,  changes 
of  expression,  eyes  that  evaded  his  own.  For  that  matter, 
Eugene  was  not  looking  straight  at  him  now.  "  They  didn't 
put  you  out.  Father  told  me  himself  that  you  went  of  your 
own  accord,"  said  he  accusingly.     "  Father  said  —  " 

"  Oh  Lord,  never  mind  what  he  said!  I  daresay  he  tried 
to  save  everybody's  face,  mine  included.  What's  the  use, 
Steve?  It's  all  over  and  done  with  these  fifteen  years.  Can't 
you  let  it  rest?  "  Eugene  cried  out  disgustedly.  Still,  to 
Steven's  sharpened  eyes,  the  pose  was  exaggerated;  still  he 
sensed  the  over-acted  dissimulation  of  an  intrinsically 
honest  man. 

''  Oh,  cut  out  all  that  talk!  You  might  as  well  tell  me  the 
truth,"  he  said,  with  a  kind  of  irritated  composure.  "  You've 
given  yourself  away  partly,  anyhow,  by  trying  so  hard  not 
to  give  yourself  away.  I  know  it's  a  point  of  honor  with  you 
not  to  say  anything  to  me  about  the  rest  of  the  family ;  but 
there's  no  call  to  be  quixotic.  You  can't  poison  my  mind 
now,  and  nobody  can  accuse  you  of  it.  You  turned  up  some- 
thing, too,  and  you  might  as  well  tell  me  what  it  was.  Look 
here,  what  was  that  you  said  when  I  started  in  to  tell  you? 
You  thought  you  knew  w^iat  I  was  talking  about  then.  It 
wasn't  the  Pancurata  —  3^ou  called  it  something  else.  What 
was  it  you  said?    The  derma-something?    You  began — " 

Eugene  arrested  him  with  an  uplifted  hand.  "  Why,  good- 
ness gracious,  of  course  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  with  a  resump- 
tion of  that  manner  of  detachment,  not  without  cynicism,  not 
without  levity,  yet  not  wholly  unkind,  which  seemed  natural 
to  him;  if  he  had  any  other  outlook  on  life,  higher  or  lower, 
he  never  betrayed  it.  ''  I  would  have  liked  to  get  out  of 
telling,  because  frankly,  the  episode  seems  to  me  now  to  have 
been  rather  trivial  —  a  sort  of  tempest  in  a  teapot.  The 
Metaderma  was  what  I  said  —  " 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  165 

"  Metaderma.     Yes.     What  was  it?  " 

"  Why,  Steven,  it  was  a  kind  of  hang-over  from  the  old 
gentleman's  time.  The  old  gentleman  must  have  been  a 
bird!  "  said  Eugene,  wagging  his  head.  ''  My  own  father  — 
but  still  —  !  After  all,  he  died  when  I  was  only  three  or  four 
years  old,  so  that  I  can  barely  remember  him.  Iron-gray 
skilligans — "  here  Eugene  swept  a  hand  down  either  cheek 
to  indicate  flowing  whiskqf s  —  "  iron-gray  skilligans,  and 
false  teeth!  That's  all  I  can  recall  of  the  late  David,  and 
taken  with  various  disclosures,  it's  not  surprising  that  I  don't 
hold  him  in  pious  and  affectionate  veneration.  The  Meta- 
derma was  an  off-shoot  of  the  same  idea  as  the  Pancurata, 
only  —  er  —  more  so.  Tliey  were  still  making  it  along  back 
in  eighteen  ninety-seven  when  I  went  into  the  office.  It  was 
a  stuff  designed  to  sell  widely  among  the  colored  population, 
because  of  its  peculiar  virtue  of  bleaching  'em  out  —  turn- 
ing them  into  white  folks,  you  know.  You  took  it  internally 
and  externally,  both;  a  bottle  a  week  for  six  weeks  did  the 
business  —  it  was  a  dollar  a  bottle  straight,  five  dollars  for 
six  bottles.  Money  refunded  if  a  complete  transformation 
was  not  effected  —  always  provided  you  had  followed  the 
directions  implicitly  —  " 

"  For  God's  sake,  don't  laugh!  " 

"  That's  the  way  I  felt  too,  Steve,  w^hen  I  first  heard  about 
it,"  said  Eugene.  '^  But  being  horrible  doesn't  keep  it  from 
being  grotesque.  There's  one  thing  to  be  said:  I 
believe  the  stuff  was  harmless;  gallons  of  it  wouldn't 
have  hurt  one." 

''Well?" 

"  Well,  I  told  you  they  were  still  making  it  when  I  came 
along.  But  the  sales  had  fallen  off,  particularly  in  the  South, 
where  you'd  have  expected  it  to  go  like  hot  cakes.  Maybe 
the  colored  brother  down  there  was  too  well  educated  and 
didn't  place  any  confidence  in  the  labels  and  the  advertising 
'literature'  —  or  maybe  he  wasn't  educated  enough,  and 
simply  couldn't  read  them.  Maybe  he  w\as  self-respecting 
and  wanted  to  stay  the  way  the  Lord  made  him,  and  then 
again  maybe  he  was  afraid  to  take  any  chances  on  getting 
himself  done  over.  Anyhow  he  wasn't  buying  the  Meta- 
derma.   They  were  on  the  point  of  closing  it  out  —  quitting 


166  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

the  manufacture  —  "  He  interrupted  himself  to  rise  and 
search  the  table  for  tobacco  and  matches.  Steven  mutely 
refused ;  so  Eugene  picked  out  a  pipe  which  he  proceeded  to 
clean  and  fill  with  elaborate  care. 

"  They  were  going  to  drop  it  when  Brother  Elihu  — 
Brother  Elihu!  "  —  Eugene  interpolated,  grimacing  — ''  had 
a  brilliant  idea.  Why  not  put  young  Eugene  in  charge  of  that 
especial  branch  down  in  Atlanta?  It  would  be  a  good  open- 
ing for  the  fellow  —  good  enough  for  him,  that  is.  He  could 
learn  the  business."  He  paused,  blowing  through  the  pipe- 
stem. 

"  So  that  was  why !  "  said  Steven. 

"  Yes.  The  plan  itself  was  flawless  —  only  young  Eugene 
refused!  " 

He  spoke  without  venom,  impersonally  as  if  this  bit  of 
biography  related  to  someone  else;  and  Steven  told  him  so, 
wondering.  ''  I  don't  know  how  they  had  treated  you  before, 
but  that  offer  seems  to  me  the  final  indecency !  "  he  said.  "  I 
suppose  you've  got  used  to  the  recollection  somehow,  you 
talk  about  it  so  coolly.  Anybody  might  think  it  had  all 
happened  to  another  man." 

"  Well,  it  did,  in  a  way.  What's  become  of  that  Eugene 
Rudd  —  that  hot-headed  lad  of  twenty-one  or  so?  /  don't 
know!  I  daresay  he's  one  of  those  stepping-stones  of  our 
dead  selves  by  which  we  rise  to  higher  things  —  as  what's- 
his-name  has  so  beautifully  and  poetically  put  it,"  said 
Eugene,  glancing  about  the  bare  room  in  cheerful  irony.  He 
expertly  tamped  down  a  pinch  of  tobacco  in  the  bowl  of  the 
pipe,  knitting  his  brows  thoughtfully  the  while.  "  I  will  say 
this  for  myself  —  since  we're  on  the  subject  —  that  I've 
never  regretted  or  wanted  to  take  back  a  single  word  of  mine 
on  that  occasion.  And  yet,  Steve,  if  I  had  it  to  do  over 
again,  I  know  I'd  do  it  differently." 

"  What  did  you  do,  Eugene?  " 

"  Oh,  we  had  a  violent  time,  of  course,"  said  the  other, 
striking  a  match.  "  I  flew  into  a  rage,  and  stormed  away  at 
both  of  them.  A  mistake,  Steven,"  he  commented,  shaking 
his  head.  ''  Natural,  but  a  mistake.  I  wouldn't  fly  into  a 
rage  nowadays.  I'd  simply  say  no,  and  let  it  go  at  that.  It 
would  be  much  more  effective  —  a  kind  of  dramatic  point. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  167 

They  were  reasonable  men,  intelligent  men.  They'd  have 
dropped  it  —  the  Metaderma,  I  mean.  It  wasn't  paying, 
anyhow.  I'm  sure  they  did  drop  it  afterwards.  It  was  a 
mistake  to  assume  right  off  the  bat  that  way  that  they  were 
both  arrant  scoundrels.  The  trouble  was,"  said  Eugene, 
drawing  at  the  pipe  with  half-shut  eyes,  something  like  a 
smile  appearing  on  his  face;  ''  the  trouble  was  I  honestly 
thought  they  were  scoundrels!  " 

"  What  else  could  you  think?  It  was  a  scoundrelly  busi- 
ness," said  Steven.  He  did  get  up  at  last,  in  a  desperate  need 
of  some  sort  of  action,  and  tramped  about  the  contracted 
space.  "  I  can't  think  what  w^as  the  matter  with  all  of  them, 
from  my  grandfather  down.  They  —  why,  they  don't  seem 
to  have  had  the  slightest  sense  of  rectitude  I  They  didn't 
have  any  morals." 

''  Why,  Lord  love  you,  Steven,  they  were  all  balled  up 
with  morals  —  they  just  lacked  a  conscience,"  said  Eugene, 
rather  amused.  '*  At  least  that's  the  way  I've  figured  it 
out.  Take  old  David,  the  original  sinner;  I  have  no  doubt 
he  was  a  good  man,  a  man  without  vices.  Would  he  have  put 
an>^hing  into  his  mouth  that  would  steal  away  his  brains, 
as  —  ahem !  —  others  have  been  known  to  do?  Not  he !  He 
never  took  a  drop  too  much  in  his  life.  Which  of  the  Com- 
mandments did  he  ever  break?  Never  a  one!  He  paid  his 
just  debts,  went  to  church,  helped  the  needy,  lived  honestly 
with  his  wife  —  his  two  wives !  —  held  up  his  head  and  gave 
thanks  that  he  was  not  as  other  men.  AH  the  while  he  was 
making  the  Pancurata  and  the  Metaderma,  and  working  off 
bogus  drugs  on  the  Government.  Somehow  he  contrived  to 
disassociate  commercial  success  and  common  honesty.  That 
generation  seems  to  have  been  more  able  in  that  direction 
than  the  present.  I  don't  believe  there's  nearly  so  much  of 
that  sort  of  thing  going  on  now.  The  sun  do  move.  Man- 
kind does  creep  forward.  Now  your  father  wouldn't  do  that 
sort  of  thing,  Steve." 

"  Only  because  they've  got  better  ways  of  keeping  track 
of  fraud  and  punishing  it  nowadays.  Father  is  too  prudent; 
he'd  be  afraid  of  getting  found  out,"  said  Steven  bitterly. 

"  Shut  UD,  you  young  idiot!  "  said  Eugene  with  entire  com- 
posure and  good-nature,  yet  forcibly.     "  You  know  your 


168  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

father  isn't  afraid  of  anything  on  this  earth.  Any  fool  can 
do  wrong.    Your  father  has  too  much  sense." 

Steven  stopped  in  front  of  him,  eying  him  perplexedly. 
"  You  always  talk  about  him  as  if  you  liked  him,  Eugene  — 
liked  him  and  admired  him.  And  yet  Heaven  knows  you 
have  no  cause  to!  " 

''  Why,  I  do  like  him  —  and  what's  more,  he'd  like  me,  if  I 
were  anybody  but  who  I  am,"  retorted  the  other.  '^  That 
time  when  we  had  the  row  over  the  Metaderma  —  " 

''Yes,  I. was  going  to  ask  you  about  that,"  said  Steven, 
with  frank  curiosity.  ''  What  did  they  say?  I  can't  imagine 
what  they  could  find  to  say." 

''  Why,  each  man  behaved  quite  in  his  character.  Brother 
Elihu  —  Brother  Elihu!  —  got  mad,  and  cussed  me  out,  and 
told  me  some  pretty  unpalatable  truths  about  myself,  and  — 
and  said  some  things  about  my  mother  which  were  not  true. 
My  poor  mother  was  not  clever,  but  she  was  an  honest 
woman.  Oh  no,  your  father  didn't  do  anything  like  that  —  " 
he  added,  interpreting  at  once  with  his  usual  prompt  finesse 
the  pained  and  reluctant  inquiry  of  Steven's  face.  "  Your 
father  wouldn't  get  down  to  any  such  mud-slinging  level  as 
that.  He  has  ten  times  the  intellect  of  Elihu,  and  he  has 
imagination.  He  could  see  my  point  of  view  —  put  himself  in 
my  place.  Only  I  had  angered  him  hopelessly.  Brother  Law- 
son —  Brother  Lawson  —  was  very  quiet  but  cutting.  I  re- 
member that  at  the  last  when  I  said  I  would  go,  intimating 
that  I  shook  the  dust  off  my  boots  on  to  the  place  forever, 
that  Lawson  said  —  ^'  And  here  Eugene  actually  chuckled  — 
"  Brother  Lawson  said  that  I  could  go  if  I  chose,  and  go  to 
the  devil  for  all  of  him !  He  said  he  would  not  lift  a  finger  to 
save  me  from  the  jail  which  I  might  possibly  escape!  And 
when  I  screeched  out  at  him  at  take  back  that  insult  or,  etc., 
etc.,  Lawson  said  with  the  most  admirable  calm:  '  Oh,  very 
well,  the  jail  you  won't  escape!  '  That  was  very  neat, 
Steven,  very  neat.  No  question  of  it,  your  father's  a  very 
bright  man." 

"  He  said  to  me  once  that  you  were  a  bright  man,"  said 
Steve. 

"  Did  he,  did  he?  Did  Lawson  say  that?  "  cried  Eugene, 
his  dully  mottled  face  suddenly  reddening  with  pleasure; 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  169 

then  he  controlled  himself  in  some  confusion.  "  Well,  that 
was  all  that  happened,  Steven.  Nothing  remains  now  but 
to  wash  up  these  dishes  —  a  sufficiently  symbolic  action!  " 
With  which  he  gathered  together  the  cofTee-service,  and 
went  again  into  the  kitchen. 

Steven  followed  him,  offering  to  help.  ''  Can't  I  do  some- 
thing?   Make  a  bed  or  something?  "  he  asked  vaguely. 

"  No,  never  mind  the  bed.  Better  not  go  in  there  just 
now  —  I'll  tidy  it  up  directly,"  said  Eugene,  rather  hastily 
interposing  between  his  guest  and  the  farthest  cubicle.  He 
went  on  smoking  over  the  foaming  hot  suds.  "  What  are 
you  going  to  do  now  you've  flown  the  paternal  coop,  Steve? 
Got  anything  in  mind?  " 

"  Why,  no,  nothing  very  definite,"  the  young  fellow  con- 
fessed, feeling  all  at  once  both  foolish  and  disconsolate. 
"  I've  got  some  money  —  a  hundred  and  sixty  dollars, 
I  thought  it  would  do  for  a  few  days  —  won't  it?  "  he  in- 
quired in  alarm  at  Eugene's  countenance;  "  of  course  I  know 
all  about  New  York  prices,  but  —  " 

"A  hundred  and  sixty  dollars!  And  he  wants  to  know 
if  it  will  do  for  a  few  days!  "  said  Eugene,  apostrophizing 
the  ceiling  with  melodramatic  intonations.  ^'  What  does  it 
look  like,  oh  gilded  youth?  There  be  those  who  have  never 
seen  as  much  in  one  lump  all  their  lives.  A  hundred  and 
sixty?  Can  such  things  be?  And  he  wants  to  do  something  — 
he  wants  to  work,  with  all  that  in  his  pocket!  " 

"  Well,  I  have  to.  It  won't  last  forever,"  said  Steven,  de- 
termined to  be  practical.  ''I  —  I  thought  of  trying  the  mag- 
azines again  with  some  of  those  things  I've  written,  you 
know.  I've  gone  all  over  them,  and  —  polished  them  off  a 
little  more.  They  aren't  so  bad,  judging  by  the  things  that 
do  get  published." 

''No,  indeed!  They're  all  right  — but  the  magazines 
aren't  a  very  reliable  source  of  income,"  said  the  other, 
humanely  enough.  "  If  your  stufT  doesn't  happen  to  strike 
the  editor-lad  just  right,  it  doesn't  make  any  difference  how 
good  it  is  as  a  literary  production."  He  wiped  the  coffee 
pot  round  and  round,  considering.  "  Tell  you  what,  there's 
a  rich  old  whale  over  on  Madison  Avenue  who's  got  a  library 
that   I'm   cataloguing  —  that   is,   I    was   cataloguing,"   he 


170  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

amended,  with  a  grin.  "  I  don't  know  whether  I've  still  got 
the  job.  Might  try  him.  I  could  ring  you  in  as  my  assist- 
ant." 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  to  catalogue  a  library.  I've  no 
more  idea  how  to  go  about  it  than  the  man  in  the  moon!  " 
protested  Steve,  horrified. 

"  Tut,  tut,  my  son,  you  can  learn.  You've  had  a  college 
education,  a  degree.  It's  nothing  in  the  world  but  a  sort  of 
classified  inventorying  —  takes  some  acquaintance  with 
books  and  writers,  of  course.  You  have  to  make  a  beginning 
somewhere,  somehow,  and  this  is  a  good  chance.  Old  Scads- 
of-it  wouldn't  know  whether  you  were  doing  it  right  or 
wrong;  he  just  wants  a  list  of  the  books.  You  won't  be 
taking  advantage  of  him,"  said  Eugene,  in  some  amusement. 
"  I  say  again,  tut!  And  likewise,  pish!  You  come  along  of 
me,  young  Steven,  and  let's  make  your  fortune !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

MR.  ADAM  J.  SACKETT'S  house  on  Madison  Avenue 
was  a  brown  stone  monolith,  four  stories  high, 
counting  in  the  ''English  basement  "  with  which  it 
was  provided  after  the  fashion  of  the  decade  70-'80,  during 
which  it  had  been  built.  At  that  time  each  side  of  the  street 
had  presented  an  unbroken  row  of  precisely  similar  mono- 
liths; but  twentieth-century  taste  in  architecture  had  lately 
been  at  work  amongst  these  other  '^  English  basements  "  and 
high  front  steps  and  batteries  of  windows.  There  were  now 
Italian  fagades  of  cut  stone,  with  balustrades,  carvings  and 
a  good  deal  of  floriated  iron- work  in  a  severe  and  rich  style ; 
some  of  the  old  mansards  had  given  way  to  steep-pitched 
Gothic-looking  roofs  be-gabled  and  be-dormered,  with  in- 
triguing casements;  and  nothing  could  surpass  the  successive 
entrances  for  ingenuity  and  variety  of  steps,  landings,  ves- 
tibules, lanterns,  archways,  grilles,  miniature  portcullises, 
and  what-not.  The  Sackett  residence  arrived  at  a  kind  of 
distinction  merely  by  retaining  its  erstwhile  perfectly  un- 
distinguished front  and  approach.  Within  there  were  inter- 
minable aisles  of  large,  dark  rooms  heavily  upholstered 
rather  than  furnished,  and  apparently  never  aired.  The 
windows  of  the  double-parlors  were  draped  with  obsolete 
lace  curtains  and  fringed  red  velvet  over-curtains;  a  table 
in  the  middle  bore  about  half  a  dozen  Royal  Worcester  or 
Coalport  cups  and  saucers,  specimen  pieces  mounted  on 
diminutive  brass  easels;  and  a  bronze  peacock,  life-size,  pre- 
sided over  both  rooms  from  the  top  of  a  marble  pedestal 
with  a  fat,  spiral  column.  The  effect  of  the  whole  was  some- 
thing between  a  Pullman  sleeper  and  the  stage-setting  for 
the  first  act  of,  let  us  say,  "  The  Mighty  Dollar,"  that  for- 
gotten masterpiece  of  about  equal  date.  It  would  have  been 
difficult  to  imagine  anything  in  the  nature  of  a  home  more 

171 


172  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

thoroughly  un-homelike,  even  in  that  era  of  un-homelike 
housing. 

^'Why,  what  could  you  expect?"  Eugene  said,  upon 
Steven's  making  the  above  comment.  "  It  wouldn't  repre- 
sent Sackett's  taste,  even  if  he  had  any.  He  bought  it  as  it 
stands,  with  everything  in  it,  lock,  stock  and  barrel,  at  some 
sheriff's  sale  in  partition,  when  some  other  forlorn  old  geezer 
without  chick  or  child  died  and  his  estate  came  to  be  divided 
up,  you  know.    I  suppose  it  was  a  bargain." 

"  '  Some  other  '  ?    Why  '  some  other  '  ?  " 

"  Why,  because  Sackett  himself  is  a  widower  or  a  bachelor, 
maybe,  and  lives  here  all  alone,  except  for  the  servants. 
There's  a  whole  tribe  of  them.  I  daresay  he  pays  them 
monumental  wages,  and  I  daresay  they  laugh  at  him  and 
sneer  behind  his  back;  his  manners  leave  something  to  be 
desired,  you  know;  I  fear  he  will  never  become  a  social 
leader.  Rather  dismal  —  a  middle-aged  man  who  doesn't 
know  what  to  do  with  himself  and  his  money.  He  made  it 
all  in  cheap  whiskey  —  Sackett's  Super-Rye,  Sackett's  Old- 
Vatted  Anderson  County,  Sackett's  Tomahawk  Brand.  Same 
blend  all  of  it,  a  blend  of  God  knows  what  —  almost  any- 
thing but  whiskey,  I  judge.  He's  out  of  the  business  now, 
with  a  whacking  fortune,  and  as  I  was  saying,  no  way  of 
spending  it.  Never  drinks  a  drop  himself !  You'll  see  him  — 
a  very  plain,  quiet,  decent  man." 

It  was  some  time,  however,  before  Steven's  first  view  of  his 
employer-elect.  The  servants  indeed  were  abundantly  vis- 
ible, a  crew  of  idle,  overpaid  and  impudent  underlings  fully 
vindicating  Eugene's  slight  sketch  of  them;  but  it  may  be 
worthy  of  note  that  after  one  essay  in  familiarity,  none  of 
them  comported  himself  otherwise  than  with  due  decorum 
and  as  a  well-mannered  domestic  should  in  the  presence  of 
either  Mr.  Rudd.  The  fact  is  curious  and  instructive,  espe- 
cially taken  with  the  other  fact  that  neither  Eugene  nor 
Steven  had  anything  to  bestow  in  the  way  of  tips,  or  sought 
to  assert  any  kind  of  superiority  —  "  giving  himself  airs,"  as 
the  kitchen  and  backstairs  would  undoubtedly  have 
described  it.  Yet  the  butler,  instead  of  slouching  around  in 
felt  slippers,  an  ancient,  spotted  alpaca  coat  and  Isabella- 
hued  linen,  spruced  up  noticeably  after  only  a  day  or  so  of 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  173 

the  two  gentlemen;  and  the  maids,  who  similarly  had  been 
wearing  all  sorts  of  nondescript  garments,  with  boudoir-caps, 
over  their  uncombed  heads  all  day  long,  now  took  to  their 
most  dashing  uniforms,  aprons  and  attitudes,  and  displayed 
a  fervid  industry  all  over  the  house,  but  more  particularly  in 
and  near  the  library! 

This  was  the  one  livable  spot  in  the  whole  dreary  desert 
of  Victorian  magnificence ;  it  occupied  the  entire  front  of  the 
house,  on  the  second  floor,  its  ceiling  vaulted  majestically, 
and  its  high  walls  panelled  with  books;  a  mammoth  stone 
chimneypiece  where  nobody  ever  ventured  to  make  a  fire, 
until  Eugene  profaned  it  with  trash  that  had  to  be  burned, 
gloomed  at  one  end.  The  black  walnut  cases  and  tables 
and  the  wadded  armchairs,  and  the  saturnine  marble  busts 
of  classic  authors  suited  the  atmosphere  of  a  library  well 
enough;  and  here  the  two  Rudds  labored  day  by  day  in  an 
increasingly  good  fellowship.  There  were  something  like 
five  thousand  volumes,  old  and  new,  good,  bad  and  indiffer- 
ent, some  few  rarities,  a  first  edition  or  so;  but  nothing 
offered  any  clue  to  the  tastes  or  personality  of  the  collector. 

"  It  would  be  more  interesting  if  Mr.  Sackett  had  a  fad 
for  something  —  biography  or  poetry  or  caricature  —  any- 
thing," Steven  said;  whereat  Eugene  hooted  with  derision. 

"Wait  till  you  see  him!  You'll  understand  then.  He's 
never  opened  a  book  in  his  life,  not  these  nor  any  others.  I 
told  you  he  bought  the  library  along  with  everything  else, 
just  because  it  happened  to  be  here.  The  Police  Gazette 
and  the  liquor-trade  journals  are  Adam  J.'s  staples  in  the 
literature  line  — and  he  probably  goes  to  sleep  over  them." 

"  Well,  then,  why  does  he  want  these  catalogued?  I 
shouldn't  think  he'd  care  how  many  there  were,  or  what  they 
were  about." 

"  Wrong  again,  young  Steven!  He  wants  to  know  exactly 
where  he  stands  on  the  whole  deal.  I'm  to  value  the  books 
as  we  go  along,  you  know;  and  we're  expected  to  see  what 
items  are  missing  from  the  sets,  if  any,  and  in  what  condition 
they  all  are.  That's  approximately  what  would  be  done  if 
this  were  a  stock  of  whiskey  he  had  acquired.  If  whiskey, 
why  not  books?  Mr.  Sackett  is  a  business  man,"  said 
Eugene  with  gravity. 


174  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

It  was  this  same  day,  as  they  were  busy  together,  Steven 
calling  off,  and  Eugene  noting  down  in  a  loose-leaf  system 
of  indices  which  he  had  himself  invented,  that  the  proprietor 
of  the  library  strolled  in  upon  them,  unheralded,  and  in  a 
not  at  all  proprietorial  manner,  on  the  contrary  rather  like 
a  chance  visitor  at  some  museum  of  oddities.  Mr.  Sackett 
was  heavy-set,  about  the  age  of  Steve's  father,  with  gray 
hair,  a  good-humored  face,  a  very  careful  and  prosperous- 
looking  suit  of  clothes,  no  diamond  studs  or  cuff-buttons  as 
Steve  had  expected,  but  with  a  signet-ring  on  one  little  finger 
and  a  double  watch-chain  and  a  Masonic  charm,  which  more 
than  made  up  the  lack.  Eugene,  warned  by  the  suspension 
of  the  reading,  looked  up  from  his  notes  and  nodded,  and  the 
other  nodded  back  in  a  style  of  great  friendliness. 

"  My  assistant,"  said  Eugene,  jerking  his  head  in  Steven's 
direction;  "name's  Rudd,  too." 

It  struck  Steve  that  he  spoke  in  an  unnecessarily  loud 
voice,  but  when  the  other  man  said  "  Hey?  "  turning  one  ear, 
the  reason  became  clear;  Mr.  Sackett  was  slightly  deaf.  Only 
slightly,  though,  or  else  he  had  cultivated  a  habit  of  obser- 
vation, for  he  caught  the  name  almost  instantly,  repeating  it 
himself,  before  Eugene  had  time.  ''  Rudd?  Another  Rudd, 
hey?  "  said  Mr.  Sackett,  and  shook  the  young  man's  hand 
with  a  genial  and  also  an  eminently  shrewd  glance  out  of  his 
little,  bright  blue  eyes.  Then  he  asked  Eugene  how  they 
were  "coming  on?  " 

"  Not  that  there's  any  hurry,"  he  said  agreeably;  "  only 
I  calculate  from  your  finding  you  had  to  have  an  assistant 
that  the  job  turned  out  heavier  than  you  looked  for." 

"  No.    It's  just  about  what  I  thought,"  said  Eugene. 

"  He  doesn't  have  to  have  me.  I'm  just  learning,"  Steven 
cried  out,  painstakingly. 

"Hey?  Just  learning?  Well,  now!  "  said  the  ex- whiskey 
dealer,  his  eyes  travelling  over  Steve's  athletic  proportions 
with  a  certain  mild  surprise.  "Well,  now!"  Mr.  Sackett 
very  deliberately  pulled  up  the  widest  and  thickest  easy- 
chair,  settled  himself  in  it  deliberately,  and  drew  out  a 
brown  paper  envelope,  which  he  tentatively  extended  to- 
wards them  both.  "Have  a  cigar?  No?  Well,  I  didn't  use  to 
smoke  in  business-hours  myself,"  he  said,  selecting  one.  This 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  175 

he  proceeded  to  light  and  smoke,  still  with  the  utmost  delib- 
eration, and  in  the  evident  purpose  of  killing  time  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon  with  them.  ''  Don't  let  me  being  here  inter- 
fere," he  said,  observing  them  to  hesitate,  exchanging  looks. 
"  I'm  just  looking  on.  I  don't  aim  to  tell  you  nothing  about 
your  work.  I  don't  know  nothing  about  it  myself.  You 
just  go  on  same  as  if  I  wasn't  here." 

So  said,  so  done!  They  took  him  at  his  word,  continuing 
to  call  off  and  write  down  as  before,  and  by  and  by  would 
actually  have  forgotten  him,  had  it  not  been  for  his  exceed- 
ingly strong  cigar.  On  his  side,  Mr.  Sackett  had  no  appear- 
ance, as  might  be  inferred,  of  standing  guard  lest  they  waste 
time  or  maltreat  his  books ;  he  sat  quietly,  comfortably  and 
unobtrusively,  with  wreaths  of  smoke  curling  around  his 
head,  wide  awake  yet  in  complete  repose,  "  looking  on,"  as 
he  had  promised,  to  the  very  letter.  Occasionally  he  spoke: 
"  Them  covers  are  real  tasty,"  "  I  guess  that  picture  of  that 
lady  is  what  they  call  a  steel-engraving,  ain't  it?  "  "  If 
you'd  like  more  of  a  fire  to  burn  them  old  wrapping-papers 
and  stuff  up  in,  Mr.  Rudd,  I'll  have  the  help  fix  it  for  you. 
It's  none  too  warm  here,  anyhow."  Such  were  Mr.  Sackett's 
contributions  to  sociability ;  and  the  strange  thing  was  that 
for  all  their  terseness  and  fragmentary  character,  they  did 
convey  a  distinctly  sociable  feeling. 

The  afternoon  wore  along,  and  at  five  o'clock,  Eugene 
said  to  him:  "Well,  I  believe  we'll  call  it  a  day,  Mr.  Sackett." 

"Sure!  You  musta  put  in  your  full  union  hours,"  the 
other  agreed  readily.  "  There's  a  nice  little  wash-up  place, 
down  in  the  hall,  kinder  in  under  the  staircase.  Did  they 
show  you  that?  "  Being  assured  that  they  had  been  shown, 
he  followed  them  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  remained 
there  —  below  in  the  wash-up  place,  they  could  hear  him 
moving  about  —  until  they  left  the  house. 

"  He  seemed  to  be  wavering  between  a  desire  to  see  us 
off  the  premises,  and  a  reasonable  doubt  as  to  whether  it 
would  look  hospitable  or  mannerly,"  Steven  said  with  a 
laugh,  as  they  walked  away.  "  Has  he  ever  come  and  sat 
around  that  way  before?  " 

"  Two  or  three  times.  He  never  stayed  so  long,  though.  I 
believe  he's  lonesome,"  said  Eugene  thoughtfully. 


176  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

The  next  day,  when  they  arrived,  there  was,  sure  enough,  a 
fine  fire  blazing  away  under  the  great  carved  mausoleum  of 
a  mantel,  which  did  not  look  nearly  so  forbidding,  being  put 
to  its  natural  uses.  "  Makes  the  place  a  whole  lot  cosier, 
don't  it?  "  Mr.  Sackett  said  in  pleased  accents,  upon  joining 
them  at  about  the  same  time  as  before.  "  That  was  a  good 
idea  I  had!  "  And  again  he  sat  by  for  several  hours,  smok- 
ing contentedly,  throwing  in  a  word  now  and  then,  until 
they  finished  up  for  the  day. 

This  became  a  regular  feature  of  the  daily  routine.  It 
reminded  Steven  weirdly  of  tales  of  fairyland  or  adventure 
he  had  loved  to  read  long  ago  as  a  romance-mongering  boy. 
He  entertained  both  Eugene  and  himself  endlessly  with  fan- 
tastic inventions  about  Adam  J.  Sackett.  As  that  the  house 
was  a  ghost-house;  it  really  did  not  exist  at  all;  some  fine 
morning  they  would  walk  over  there  only  to  find  a  city-park 
or  a  huge  apartment-building  on  the  site,  and  upon  inquiry 
it  would  develop  that  they  had  been  asleep  forty  years,  and 
only  a  few  doddering  oldest  inhabitants  would  recall  with 
difficulty  that  there  had  once  been  a  man  named  Sackett, 
living  there  in  a  brown-stone-front.  Or:  Adam  J.  was  a 
modernized  version  of  the  Flying  Dutchman,  doomed  to 
spend  a  bootless  eternity  amongst  legions  of  books,  until  he 
read  them  all  through  —  which  he  never  could  do  owing  to 
having  cursed  the  alphabet  when  he  was  set  to  learn  it  in 
the  primary  grade.  Or:  he  was  a  masculine  Circe,  sur- 
rounded by  and  gloating  over  the  souls  of  luckless  librarians 
whom  he  had  turned  into  books,  and  only  waiting  the  appro- 
priate moment  to  ensorcerize  Eugene  and  Steven  them- 
selves, after  the  same  fashion! 

"  We  must  each  wear  an  amulet,  and  make  horns  with  our 
fingers  whenever  we  see  him  looking  at  us,  the  way  the 
Neapolitan  peasants  do  to  ward  off  the  evil  eye,"  the  young 
fellow  said  solemnly;  ''  also  be  very  cautious  in  your  refer- 
ences to  the  Prince  of  Darkness.  Haven't  you  noticed  a  faint 
flavor  of  brimstone  when  he  lights  his  cigar?  He's  just 
waiting  his  chance.  I  distinctly  saw  the  head  of  Lord  Byron 
nod  in  obedience  to  some  secret  sign  from  him  the  other  day; 
it  nodded  and  grinned  fiendishly.  Eugene,  I  say  to  you, 
Beware !    You  have  not  been  over-respectful  to  Lord  B." 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  177 

Eugene  laughed,  and  they  both  laughed.  The  fact  was 
that,  a  day  or  so  before,  Mr.  Sackett  had  asked,  casually  indi- 
cating the  row  of  busts,  if  they  were  supposed  to  be  likenesses 
of  real  people,  or  just  fancy  heads?  "  I  should  judge  'em  to 
be  likenesses,  if  you  asked  me.  Because  heads  would  be 
better  looking,"  he  observed  acutely  enough;  and  Eugene 
confirmed  him. 

''  They  are  all  portraits  and  quite  recognizable,"  he  said; 
"  excepting  that  one  —  "  and  he  pointed  to  Lord  Byron. ''  To 
represent  Byron  with  a  stone  head  is  misleading,"  said  Eu- 
gene, without  a  smile.    "  In  life  he  was  a  mush-head." 

Mr.  Sackett  looked  at  him,  looked  at  the  bust,  looked  at 
Steven,  and  gradually  began  to  chuckle.  "  Say !  "  he  said 
finally,  "  You  don't  know  what  a  jolt  you  give  me  then!  I 
didn't  expect  a  literary  man  would  say  a  thing  like  that  — 
make  fun,  you  know." 

Thus  their  days  passed ;  and  it  may  be  questioned  if  this 
time  were  not,  on  the  whole,  the  happiest  of  Steve  Rudd's 
life  so  far.  He  was  doing  what  he  liked  better  and  indeed 
may  have  been  better  fitted  for  by  temperament  than  any- 
thing he  had  ever  done  before;  he  was  earning  very  little 
money  —  but  it  was  clean;  he  had  moments  of  leisure  for 
ventures  in  the  art  of  letters  not  all  of  which  were  unprofi- 
table; he  had  hunted  up  or  run  across  a  friend  or  two,  mostly 
from  college-days,  young  fellows  like  himself  trying  a  hazard 
of  new  fortunes;  he  was  twenty-four  years  old,  in  good 
health,  and  full  of  radiant  expectations;  what  more  could  a 
man  want?  Steve  was  never  bored  nowadays;  he  never  felt 
himself  in  the  way,  superfluous,  only  tolerated  because  of 
being  his  father's  son.  Sometimes  he  thought  of  his  days  in 
the  ofiice  with  wonder  and  contempt.  "  I  don't  see  how  I 
kept  it  up  so  long,"  he  would  say  to  himself.  And  could  he 
have  gone  on  keeping  it  up  with  old  David  Rudd's  accursed 
money  burning  his  fingers,  burning  into  his  conscience, 
whenever  he  touched  it?    Never ! 

There  came  a  day,  however,  when  his  skies  were  overcast 
by  an  event  the  shade  of  which,  to  tell  the  truth,  always  lay 
along  their  horizon.  Steven  trudged  to  work  alone,  and 
down  at  heart;  and  there  Mr.  Sackett  found  him  at  the 
accustomed  hour,  getting  on  by  himself  with  suiB&cient  speed 
and  accuracy,  but  in  the  same  depression, 

N 


178  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  Hello,  Where's  your  side-pardner?  "  Sackett  inquired 
naturally,  glancing  all  about.    "  Sick?  " 

'^  Yes.    He's  home,  that  is." 

Their  eyes  met.  Sackett  said,  "  Oh!  "  and  sat  down  fish- 
\ng  out  his  eternal  cigar.  '^  Thars  a  pity,"  he  remarked  after 
a  few  minutes  of  smoking  and  contemplating  Steven's  indus- 
try. "  About  how  often  does  he  get  those  spells?  Every 
three  months  or  so,  hey?  Yeah,  that's  what  I  thought.  You 
can't  keep  him  off  it,  hey?  Never  mind,  don't  say  nothing!  " 
he  interposed  quickly,  as  Steven  was  about  to  speak;  "  don't 
explain.  I  knew  about  him,  already,  of  course.  It  ain't 
necessary  to  tell  me,  and  besides,  owing  to  me  being  hard 
of  hearing;  why,  somebody  else  might  hear  you^ — some  of 
these  hired  help,  you  know  —  and  there's  no  call  for  that,  I 
guess.  I'm  pretty  good  at  lip-reading,  or  face-reading  — 
that's  the  biggest  part  of  it  —  account  of  having  had  to  prac- 
tice so  much.  Say,  tell  you  what:  you  knock  off  for  a  minute 
and  set  down  here  and  less  talk  —  not  about  your  pardner, 
I  don't  mean.    Less  just  talk." 

Steven  Lccepted  this  invitation,  seeing  that  it  was  prof- 
fered, if  bluntly  like  the  rest  of  Mr.  Sackett 's  speech,  in  real 
kindness  of  heart.  He  sat  down  and  they  talked.  The  young 
man  was  surprised,  on  review,  that  they  could  find  so  much 
to  talk  about ;  he  had  not  supposed  they  would  have  an  idea 
or  an  interest  in  common.  To  be  sure  his  own  part  was 
mainly  that  of  listener;  Sackett  asked  him  only  a  few  ques- 
tions about  himself,  and  those  not  at  all  pointed,  not  at  all 
searching,  concerning  only  matters  which  might  have  come 
within  any  young  man's  experience,  and  which  any  young 
man  might  answer  without  embarrassment.  As,  where  he 
had  gotten  his  "  eddication,"  and  what  he  proposed  to  do 
after  this  present  job,  and  so  on.  If  the  ex- whiskey-dealer 
felt  any  curiosity,  he  restrained  it,  whether  out  of  a  certain 
native  courtesy  or  mere  worldly  wisdom,  Steven  did  not 
know ;  but  he  liked  Sackett  the  better  for  it. 

Adam  J.  himself,  as  was  abundantly  evident,  had  had 
next  to  no  "  eddication  "  whatever,  a  lack  which  he  looked 
upon  as  regrettable  but  not  irremediable.  Book-learning,  he 
said  —  in  effect  —  was  more  of  a  luxury  than  a  necessity; 
you  could  get  along  and  do  well  without  it  —  witness  his 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  178 

own  case;  reading  books  didn't  help  a  man  in  ordinary  busi- 
ness any.  But  he  reahzed  now  that  it  was  a  fine  thing  to 
fall  back  on,  when  you  didn't  need  to  work  any  longer.  It 
was  a  way  of  passing  the  time;  and  the  trouble  was  that  if 
you  didn't  get  it,  the  book-habit  as  you  might  say,  when  you 
were  young,  you  couldn't  get  it  when  you  reached  his  age,  no 
matter  how  much  leisure  you  had.  Your  mind  wouldn't 
work  that  way. 

In  the  course  of  this  and  subsequent  conversations  he  told 
Steven  a  good  deal  more  about  himself,  releasing  impulses 
which  he  had  probably  held  in  check  for  nobody  knows  how 
many  wary,  patient,  hard-working  years.  He  was  born  in  an 
Albany  slum  and  began  life  'tending  bar  in  that  city  at  the 
age  of  fourteen.  For  ten  years  or  more  thereafter,  his  career 
embraced  such  various  yet  somehow  related  industries  as 
following  the  races,  promoting  prize-fights,  running  saloons, 
going  steward  on  boats  out  of  New  York  on  the  Panama  run 
—  "  That  was  in  the  old  yellow-fever  days,  too  "  —  he  inter- 
polated reminiscently  —  and  taking  a  fling  at  professional 
billiards.  Then  at  last  he  got  into  the  whiskey-trade;  that 
just  suited  him;  he  began  in  a  small  way,  of  course,  but  he 
made  money  right  along  —  never  had  any  set-backs.  He  got 
out  of  it  some  two  or  three  years  previously,  because  he 
thought  he  had  enough  for  any  ordinary  man ;  he  knew  when 
to  quit;  no  sense  working  himself  to  death;  he  wasn't  going 
to  live  forever,  and  he  might  as  well  rest  up  a  little.  Besides, 
he  might  be  mistaken,  but  it  looked  to  him  like  there  was 
rocks  ahead  for  the  liquor-dealers.  Prohibition  or  these  here 
Suffragists  would  come  along  and  knock  the  props  from 
under  'em,  one  of  these  days.    So  he  got  out. 

"  And  here  I  am,  fifty-seven,  though  I  don't  feel  that  old, 
and  not  a  thing  on  earth  to  do!  "  he  said,  manifestly  hold- 
ing himself  up  to  examination  before  his  mind's  eye.  and 
finding  the  spectacle  one  of  serio-comedy,  contradictory  and 
confusing.  "  A  young  fellow  like  you  prob'ly  has  the  idea: 
*'  Gee,  it's  easy  enough  to  think  up  ways  of  spending  money !  ' 
Well,  take  it  from  me,  it  ain't  —  and  what's  more,  it  ain't  so 
much  fun  if  you  could  think  'em  up!  Now  I  went  and 
bought  this  house,  kind  of  expecting  it  would  entertain  me; 
and  it  did,  kind  of,  for  a  while.    But  I  was  getting  tired  of 


180  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

it  already  when  I  run  across  the  other  Mr.  Rudd,  and  got 
him  to  invoice  these  books.  I  knew  all  about  him  pretty 
soon  —  right  at  first,  fact  is.  But  I  didn't  mind  —  I  like  to 
have  him  around.  He's  company  for  me.  There's  nothing 
the  matter  with  him,  except  just  that  one  thing.  Do  you 
use  any  liquor,  young  man?  " 

Steven  said  no ;  he  had  always  been  accustomed  to  seeing 
it  around  the  house,  and  took  a  drink  sometimes  —  "  But  I 
—  I  really  don't  like  the  taste  of  whiskey,"  he  said,  ingenu- 
ously blushing  over  the  confession.  "  And  I  don't  believe  I'd 
ever  care  very  much  for  the  effect,  either." 

"  You're  right.  There's  nothing  to  it,"  Sackett  said. 
''  Makes  you  feel  good  for  a  little,  and  then  what?  'Taint 
worth  while.  Once  you  get  that  into  your  head  good  and 
hard,  you  don't  need  no  laws  to  keep  you  off  of  it.  And  say, 
they  talk  about  this  dipsomania  and  drinking  being  a  disease 
like  —  like  having  chilblains.  All  poppycock!  There  ain't 
any  dipsomaniacs,  but  there's  a  mighty  lot  of  damn  fools!  " 

It  was,  to  say  the  least,  an  unexpected  pronouncement 
from  the  owner  and  exploiter  of  Sackett's  Super-Rye,  Sack- 
ett's  Tomahawk  Brand  and  all  the  rest;  nevertheless  Steven 
recognized  that  it  came  honestly.  He  found  himself  rather 
sorry  for  Sackett,  resourceless  and  occupationless,  driven  for 
companionship  to  a  come-by-chance  couple  like  himself  and 
Eugene.  For  all  his  slum  origin,  his  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  shabbiest  side  of  life,  his  own  adventures  in  demi- 
scoundrelism,  there  was  a  certain  naivete  and  simplicity 
about  this  elderly  whiskey-seller;  and  his  isolation  moved 
the  other's  quick  sympathies.  All  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men  and  women  must  have  drifted  into  Sackett's  life  and 
out  again;  but  he  did  not  seem  to  have  made  lasting  friend- 
ships with  any  of  them,  being  perhaps  barred  by  his  deaf- 
ness, perhaps  by  the  caution  his  experiences  had  bred  and 
fostered  until  it  became  second  nature,  perhaps  by  a  queer 
kind  of  shyness  that  was  not  without  its  standards.  "  If  I 
was  married,  I  wouldn't  be  so  kind  of  alone  —  even  if  we 
didn't  get  along  together  first-rate,"  was  one  of  the  things  he 
said.  "But  I  ain't  ever  known  many  ladies  —  nobody  I'd 
have  liked  to  try  being  married  to,  anyhow.  A  good  many 
jingle  mm  when  they  get  to  my  time  of  life  take  and  marry 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  181 

their  stenographer  or  some  telephone  or  candy-counter  girl 
they  pick  up  somewhere.  But  that  way  of  doing  don't 
appeal  to  me.  It  would  be  all  right  for  you;  but  at  my 
age  —  "    He  shook  his  head. 

They  were  well  established  in  the  safe  friendliness  which 
is  always  conscious  of  reserves,  by  the  time  Eugene  was 
fit  to  come  back,  somewhat  sallow  and  shaky  but  master  of 
himself  again.  The  work  was  now  very  near  done;  another 
week  would  see  the  end  of  it.  Steven,  visiting  the  book- 
sellers and  publishing-houses  in  his  by-hours  and  acting 
on  the  suggestions  of  one  or  two  friends,  had  purveyed  him- 
self another  job,  on  probation,  with  the  well-known  import- 
ing house,  Fulano,  Tal  &  Company  on  Twenty-Eighth  Street, 
where  a  tolerable  familiarity  with  the  foreign  languages, 
classic  and  modern,  would  undoubtedly  stand  him  in  good 
stead.  The  salary  was  even  less  than  moderate,  but  Steve 
could  suit  his  wants  to  it;  much  as  he  would  have  resented 
being  told  so,  there  must  have  been  a  strain  of  the  grand- 
paternal  Rudd  in  him,  some  prudent  and  practical  quality 
strong  enough  to  overrule  the  habits  and  tendencies  of  a  rich 
man's  son.  He  told  Mr.  Sackett  about  the  new  position. 
"  I  bet  I'll  make  good  with  'em,"  he  said,  not  boastfully  but 
wdth  ample  confidence.  And  the  other  endorsed  him  with  a 
laugh. 

''Sure  you  will!  But  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  he 
wanted  to  know  of  Eugene. 

"Oh,  I'll  get  something,"  said  Eugene  carelessly;  "I 
always  get  something."  Which  was  no  more  than  the  truth, 
notwithstanding  his  well-marked  failing.  He  was  seldom 
out  of  employment;  hack-work,  to  be  sure,  but  drunk  or 
sober,  he  invariably  contrived  to  get  it  done  well. 

As  for  Sackett,  he  viewed  their  approaching  departure 
with  unconcealed  regret.  ^'  It'll  seem  pretty  quiet  around 
here  when  you  tw^o  go  away,"  he  told  them  wistfully. 

''  You  ought  to  have  somebody  else  come  and  fix  up  some 
other  part  of  the  house  for  you,  Mr.  Sackett,"  Steven  said, 
casting  about  for  suggestions  in  sheer  humanity.  "  I  know 
a  lady  that  had  a  whole  suite  of  rooms  rebuilt  —  walls  torn 
down  and  put  up  again  differently—  new  mantels  — new 
floors  —  new  windows  —  everything  changed  all  around,  and 


182  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

made  over  so  as  to  go  with  one  single  piece  of  furniture  that 
had  been  brought  from  Europe.  It  took  two  or  three  months, 
and  she  had  a  beautiful  time  bossing  it  all." 

Mr.  Sackett  looked  interested,  if  faintly  incredulous. 
''  That's  a  good  story,  anyhow,"  he  commented,  cautiously 
smiling.  "  One  piece  of  furniture,  hey?  What  was  it  made 
of?    Solid  gold?  " 

"  No,  it  was  an  old  carved  chest  from  Italy." 

"  Eyetalian,  hey?  You  mean  she  had  everything  made 
Eyetalian  style  to  correspond?  Well,  there  ain't  anything 
like  that  to  start  with  around  here  —  unless  you  took  that 
figger  of  a  bird  down  stairs,  and  I  don't  know  how  you'd  go 
to  work  with  a  thing  like  that.  I  wouldn't  want  any  more 
birds  on  that  order,"  said  Mr.  Sackett  dubiously.  ^'  1  might 
have  some  papering  done  though.  New  paper  would  be  sort 
of  cheerful." 

He  was  a  man  of  action;  during  the  next  two  days  they 
missed  him  from  the  afternoon  conference,  but  the  next  day 
after  that,  heard  him  come  in  with  a  companion;  and  pres- 
ently earnest  parleyings  rumbled  through  the  rooms  down- 
stairs and  here  and  there  about  the  house,  ultimately  draw- 
ing nearer.  The  houseman  brought  a  step-ladder ;  measure- 
ments were  being  taken.  It  appeared  that  Mr.  Sackett's 
adviser  was  a  lady ;  they  could  hear  her  clear  voice  pitched  a 
little  higher  than  was  natural,  probably,  to  carry  her  recom- 
mendations—  ''A  color-scheme  of  rather  high  tones  — 
the  drawing-room  walls  panelled,  with  perhaps  two  or  three 
pieces  of  lacquer  and  a  Chinese  screen  —  "  "  We  have  an  old 
Spanish  embroidered  cope  that  would  be  ideal  for  the  grand 
piano  —  perfectly  stunning  —  "  ^'  Dessiis-des-portes  for  the 
dining-room  ...  I  know  of  four  old  Dutch  flower- and- fruit 
pieces  —  by  Van  der  Douw,  really  excellent.  I  may  be  able 
to  get  them  —  just  a  chance.  In  our  profession,  we  have 
exceptional  opportunities,  you  know  —  " 

*'  You  do! "  murmured  Eugene  with  relish.  ''  You've  got 
one  right  now!  Dessus-des-portes!  Sackett's  Old-Vatted 
Anderson  County  —  Wow!''  He  retreated  into  a  corner, 
turning  his  face  to  the  shelves,  suffocating  with  sup- 
pressed laughter,  while  Steven  struggled  with  a  rapidly 
strengthening  impression  that  he  had  heard  the  voice  before. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  183 

Even  launched  in  this  unaccustomed  key  at  Sackett's  ears, 
it  was  familiar;  drawling,  gracious,  filled  with  an  interest 
perfectly  artificial  yet  perfectly  assumed  — 

Mrs.  Ballard  appeared  in  the  doorway  of  the  library.  She 
elevated  a  lorgnette.  ''Oh,  but  this  is  very  nice,  Mr.  Sack- 
ett  —  full  of  possibilities!  " 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  recognition  was  simultaneous;  Mrs.  Ballard 
dropped  her  lorgnette  with  a  startled  movement, 
but  she  recovered  it  and  her  poise  at  once.  For  an 
incalculably  brief  moment,  a  mere  speck  of  time,  Steven  was 
aware  of  a  questioning  uncertainty  in  her  attitude,  as  if  she 
would  have  said:  "  Do  you  want  me  to  know  you  —  or  not?" 
It  was  conceivable  that  upon  the  faintest  signal,  she  would 
have  looked  at  him  and  accepted  whatever  incognito  he  went 
by,  with  the  countenance  of  an  utter  stranger;  at  least, 
Steven  felt  that,  in  the  familiar  phrase,  he  would  not  have 
put  the  feat  past  her!  In  a  lifetime  of  practice  she  had 
brought  the  art  of  suiting  herself  to  other  people's  whims  to 
a  perfection  rarely  encountered  in  this  world  of  failures. 
"  Shall  I  know  you,  meeting  you  in  this  bizarre  place  and 
employment?  Or  would  you  rather  I  didn't?  "  she  tele- 
graphed. But  before  he  himself  could  act,  Mr.  Sackett  un- 
knowingly settled  all  doubts. 

"  These  are  the  two  gentlemen  I  was  telling  you  about 
that's  been  fixing  the  books,"  he  said.  "  Two  Mr.  Rudds, 
Make  you  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Ballard,  gents." 

"Oh,  but  we've  met!  We've  known  each  other  a  long 
while.  How  do  you  do,  Steven?  "  said  Mrs.  Ballard,  sum- 
moning a  charming  smile  instantly ;  and  she  went  up  to  them, 
and  gave  each  one  a  hand  with  exactly  the  appropriate  de- 
gree of  warmth.  "  Such  a  surprise !  For  a  minute  I  had  to 
stare  —  of  course  we  were  likely  to  meet  any  time,  neverthe- 
less I  wasn't  expecting  it!  " 

Steven  and  Eugene  mumbled  something;  upon  Sackett, 
the  incident  did  not  seem  to  make  much  impression.  The 
average  citizen  of  New  York  is  essentially  incurious.  "Hello! 
You  don't  say!  Why,  she  comes  from  my  home  town, 
Albany,  and  you're  both  from  somewheres  out  West,  ain't 
you?    Far  enough  apart!    Artistic  folks  always  know  each 

184 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  185 

other,  though;  they  kind  of  run  together  naturally,  and 
doctors  and  lawyers  the  same  way,"  was  all  his  comment. 
"  But  don't  it  beat  all  how  everybody  gets  to  New  York 
sooner  or  later!  " 

And  from  that  on  Mrs.  Ballard  took  charge  of  the  conver- 
sation; it  should  go  without  saying  that  everybody  was 
immediately  put  at  ease.  Mr.  Rudd  —  Mr.  Eugene  Rudd, 
that  is  —  had  been  cataloguing  Mr.  Sackett's  library?  And 
Steven  was  his  assistant?  It  must  be  very  interesting  work! 
She  asked  not  one  single  question  as  to  how  Steve  happened 
to  be  there  instead  of  in  his  father's  office  where  she  had  last 
heard  of  him ;  and  as  to  the  family  they  might  not  have  ex- 
isted, for  all  Mrs.  Ballard  let  fall  about  them.  Why  was  she 
thus  reticent?  Why,  indeed!  Contrariwise,  she  was  quite 
expansive  about  her  own  affairs,  explaining  her  visit  to  the 
Sackett  house  with  a  little  air  of  humorous  deprecatory  im- 
portance, very  feminine,  very  pretty.  She  was  now  a  profes- 
sional decorator!  What,  didn't  they  know  it?  She  would 
have  thought  Steven,  at  any  rate,  would  have  heard  through 
his  friends,  the  Burkes.  Oh  yes!  Full-fledged!  For  the  last 
six  months  she  had  had  her  shingle  out.  Wasn't  that  what 
you  called  it,  Mr.  Sackett,  when  you  advertised?  Wait  a 
minute ! 

Here  she  fished  around  in  her  bag,  and  presently  produced 
from  amongst  an  assortment  of  chintz  and  brocade  samples, 
bits  of  paper  covered  with  notes  and  rough  drawings,  un- 
mounted photographs  rolled  together  in  a  rubber  circlet,  etc., 
a  little  tea-colored  card  with  old-English  lettering  in  sepia, 
setting  forth  that  Miss  Frances  Burke  and  Mrs.  E.  Van  H. 
Ballard  were  now  established  in  their  studios  at  the  Sign  of 
the  Lanthorn,  East  10th  Street  (upstairs).  Antiques,  lac- 
quered and  painted  furniture,  old  lustre-ware,  Waterford 
glass,  pewter,  brass,  filet  lace  and  cut-work,  petit-point,  etc. 
They  would  decorate  whole  houses  or  single  rooms.  Cor- 
rect period-work  a  specialty.  Visits  made  and  estimates 
furnished  without  charge. 

''  That  last  clause, '  without  charge,'  is  what  got  me,"  said 
Mr.  Sackett,  with  a  solemn  wink,  whereat  the  lady  laughed 
most  amiably. 

"  Indeed  I  ought  to  be  attending  to  my  own  business  this 


186  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

minute  instead  of  keeping  your  two  experts  from  theirs," 
she  announced  briskly.  And  to  the  others:  "  Do  come  and 
see  us.  Sunday  afternoons,  we  have  a  cup  of  tea  for  visitors 
—  it's  our  only  day,  of  course.  I'll  love  to  show  you  the 
place."  For  once  there  was  the  note  of  absolute  sincerity  in 
her  disciplined  voice;  she  looked  at  Steven  with  real  enthu- 
siasm and  pride.  ''  We  have  some  beautiful  things.  You 
must  come." 

Steven  guessed  that  she  would  keep  clear  of  mentioning 
Mary  just  as  she  had  kept  clear  of  any  mention  of  his  own 
people,  unless  he  himself  introduced  the  subject.  So,  feel- 
ing himself  getting  red  but  hoping  that  it  would  not  be 
noticed  in  the  twilight  of  the  big,  gloomy  room,  he  got  out, 
not  too  awkwardly:  ''  Is  —  is  Mary  with  you?  " 

''  No.  Oh,  no!  "  said  Mrs.  Ballard,  displaying  —  perhaps 
feeling!  —  a  maternally  indulgent  amusement.  ''Fancy 
Mary  trying  to  decorate  somebody's  house!  It's  my  daugh- 
ter he  means,  Mr.  Sackett,"  she  explained  —  and  it  was  a 
lesson  in  the  tactics  of  civility  to  see  how  she  brought  him 
into  the  talk,  without  effort,  without  emphasis,  spon- 
taneously, as  if  reminding  an  old  acquaintance,  who  might 
not  impossibly  have  forgotten  the  fact,  that  she  had  a 
daughter.  ''  My  daughter  Mary  is  just  like  all  the  rest  of 
these  modern  girls;  a  house  to  her  is  not  a  place  to  make 
beautiful;  it's  scarcely  even  a  home.  It's  only  where  one 
sleeps  and  takes  an  occasional  meal!  Why,  Mary  has  a 
position  in  the  Mountaindale  School  for  Girls,  at  Tarrytown, 
you  know,  Steve.  She  is  the  physical  instructor  there."  And 
again  Mrs.  Ballard  addressed  Sackett  with  the  camaraderie 
of  equal  age  and  social  experience.  "  They  will  do  some- 
things nowadays,  Mr.  Sackett.  Girls  and  all,  they're  not 
satisfied  unless  they  are  at  some  kind  of  work.  It  wasn't  so 
in  our  day,  but  times  change  and  we  must  keep  up  with  them, 
I  suppose.^' 

With  some  other  desultory  remarks,  this  incident  closed, 
Mrs.  Ballard  leading  Adam  J.  off,  and  the  manservant  with 
the  stepladder  and  footrule  trailmg  after  them  to  the  utter- 
most fastnesses  of  the  house,  in  an  aroma  of  questions,  sug- 
gestions and  diplomatic  criticism.  Eugene  characterized  the 
whole  affair  as  an  excessively  "  queer  start." 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  187 

"  Think  of  Mrs.  Ballard  tying  up  in  partnership  to  that 
plain,  quiet,  sensible,  straightforward  Miss  Burke  with  her 
sandy  hair  and  her  big  front  teeth !  "  said  he.  "  No  two 
women  more  essentially  different  ever  existed.  I'd  like  to 
know  how  it  came  about.  My  guess  would  be  that  Miss 
Burke  puts  in  the  coin  and  the  ballast  of  practical  methods, 
bookkeeping,  calculating,  bargaining  and  so  on,  while  Mrs. 
Ballard  does  the  ornamental  talking." 

Steven  admitted  that  it  looked  that  w^ay.  "  Francie  must 
have  got  through  that  course  she  was  taking,  and  set  up  for 
herself.  That's  pretty  fine  for  a  girl.  But  she's  awfully 
bright;  she'd  be  all  right  for  the  business-side  of  it.  This 
other  part  seems  to  suit  Mrs.  Ballard,  too."  A  desire  which 
Master  Steven  would  have  cut  off  a  finger  rather  than  con- 
fess, even  to  himself,  to  bring  in  Mary's  name,  and  hear 
what  the  other  would  say  about  her,  led  him  to  add:  "  And 
Miss  Ballard's  the  physical  instructor  at  some  girls'  school! 
I  wonder  how  she  got  into  that!  " 

"  Oh,  she  could  do  it  well  enough.  She's  a  well-built  little 
thing,  strong  and  active,  and  good  at  any  kind  of  outdoor 
exercise.  That's  probably  all  that's  necessary.  It  can't  be 
a  great  strain  on  the  intellect  to  teach  g>^mnastics,"  said 
Eugene  callously.  Steven  put  it  down  for  the  only  ill-con- 
sidered or  unappreciative  judgment  he  had  ever  heard  from 
him ;  but  somehow  it  did  not  seem  advisable  to  take  up  the 
cudgels  for  Miss  Ballard  and  point  out  to  Eugene  how 
grossly  he  had  underestimated  her. 

Next  Sunday  afternoon  found  him  roaming  about  the 
confines  of  Greenwich  Village;  and  erelong  he  came  upon  the 
Sign  of  the  Lanthorn,  which  was  that  article  itself,  a  fine, 
rough  old  specimen  from  some  New  Bedford  windjammer  of 
the  last  century,  swinging  at  the  end  of  an  iron  arm  from 
the  second-story  front  of  a  correspondingly  fine  and  old 
brick  mansion  recently  restored,  and  made  over  into  apart- 
ments. There  was  a  door  of  beautifully  proportioned  panels, 
painted  green,  with  a  half-moon-shaped  transom,  and  a  brass 
knocker  and  doorknob,  and  a  scrolled  iron  foot-scraper. 
Within,  a  rather  steep  curving  staircase  with  the  authentic 
air  of  its  period  singularly  outclassing  modern  copies,  con- 
ducted Steve  to  the  next  floor,  where  some  interior  partitions 


188  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

must  have  been  removed,  though  with  exceeding  care  not  to 
disturb  what  Mrs.  Ballard  would  undoubtedly  have  styled 
the  "  atmosphere."  The  landing  had  been  widened;  there 
was  a  Palladian  window  with  a  little  iron  balcony;  doors 
opened  on  either  hand,  this  into  the  rooms  of  Mr.  Alfred 
Popham,  Stained  Glass  Windows  and  Church  Furnishings, 
that  to  Miss  Frances  Burke  and  Mrs.  E.  Van  H.  Ballard. 
Voices  and  movements  could  be  heard  behind  both  of  them ; 
from  some  locality  more  remote  there  emanated  the  sound 
of  a  ukelele  and  of  a  man  singing;  and  Steven  was  aware  of 
a  young  woman  in  a  linen  crash  smock  of  violent  hue,  with 
hair  cut  short  and  hanging  forward  all  around  her  face, 
tiptoeing  out  to  another  landing  higher  up  and  leaning  over 
the  banisters  to  survey  him.  Festoons  of  beads  attached  to 
her  somehow  rattled  against  the  railing  as  she  leaned. 

His  door  opened;  the  smock  scuttled  off.    "  Here  you  are! 
I  was  hoping  you'd  come!  "  cried  Francie  heartily.     She 
looked  older,  taller,  less  girlish  somehow,  but  as  nice,  as 
wholesome  as  ever;  her  light  red  hair  brushed  up  trimly,  her 
crisp  blouse  a  marvel  of  both  the  tailor's  and  the  laundress' 
art,  her  neat-hanging  skirt  could  have  belonged  to  Francie 
Burke  and  to  nobody  else.    No  smocks  and  tassel-like  coif- 
fures for  her!    The  studio,  at  the  first  glance,  seemed  to  be 
two  or  more  rooms  thrown  together  into  one  large  one,  with 
perhaps  others,  closets  or  alcoves  really,  ranged  upon  the 
boundaries.    Here  were  disposed  in  a  picturesque  huddle  the 
antiques,  the  painted  furniture,  the  lustre-ware,  etc.,  prom- 
ised on  the  firm's  card ;  a  score  or  so  of  mezzotints  hung  up 
on  the  walls  made  an  effect  of  soft  brilliance  among  eigh- 
teenth-century   mirrors,    empty    frames    and    innumerable 
sconces  and  brackets;  strips  of  needlework,  vivid  embroider- 
ies on  parchment-colored  backgrounds,  and  rococco  cushions 
of  satin  and  lace  encumbered  the  Adam  settees  and  the  old 
oak  dressers  and  benches  that  elbowed  one  another  around 
the  wainscot ;  and  at  his  feet  two  or  three  Oriental  rugs  in  a 
tumble  resembled  the  sweepings  of  many-tinted  fragments 
from  a  shattered  cathedral  window.    In  the  middle  of  this 
extravagant    disorder,    the    super-orderly    Francie    in   her 
severe  clerkly  attire  cut  so  incongruous  a  figure  that  it 
arrested  the  mind  in  curiosity  and  speculation;  she  was  not 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  189 

out  of  place  —  nothing  and  nobody  could  have  been  out 
of  place  in  such  a  hodge-podge!  —  but,  to  borrow  again  from 
Mrs.  Ballard,  she  did  not  "  compose  "  with  the  rest  of  the 
picture.  One  felt  that  the  linen-crash  smock  with  her  beads 
would  have  been  much  more  appropriately  housed  there. 

"  Isn't  it  in  a  muss,  though?  "  she  said  cheerfully,  trans- 
lating correctly  Steve's  look  of  interested  perplexity.  ''  We 
keep  it  like  this  all  the  time.  Everything's  clean,  though  it 
doesn't  look  so.  Hang  your  coat  and  hat  on  the  antlers,  and 
come  over  here  to  the  fire." 

Steven  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  weaving  about  amongst 
the  Burke-Ballard  stock  of  goods,  got  up  to  the  fireplace, 
which  itself  obviously  belonged  to  the  collection;  it  was 
supplied  with  a  hob-grate,  and  an  iron  fire-back  with  some- 
body's coat-of-arms  stamped  upon  it.  A  little  old  fireside 
sofa  of  faded  red  moreen,  a  wing-chair  covered  with  flowered 
and  striped  calico,  a  tea-table  that  reminded  him  of  Cruik- 
shank's  illustrations  to  some  first  edition  of  Pickwick  Pa- 
pers, were  drawn  up  to  form  a  species  of  dyke  against  any 
further  encroachment  from  the  shop  properties.  The  spot, 
cramped  as  it  was,  had  all  the  inherent  seclusion,  comfort 
and  propriety  of  a  hearth;  the  handful  of  coals  glowed,  the 
kettle  whispered  to  itself,  there  was  a  homely  fragrance  of 
toast  browning;  somebody  came  from  behind  a  high  screen 
of  russet  leather  with  dull  gilding  showing  here  and  there 
among  its  tooled  traceries  —  and  Steven's  heart  performed 
an  unusual  caper,  in  the  nature  of  a  somersault.  The  some- 
body was  Mary. 

She  gave  a  jump  and  almost  a  scream  at  sight  of  him,  and 
the  cups  and  saucers  she  was  carrying  on  a  small  tray  all  but 
went  to  the  floor.    Francie  crowed  with  delight. 

"  Oh,  Steven!  "  was  all  Mary  could  get  out  for  an  instant. 
Then  her  voice  and  expression  shifted  from  astonishment  to 
reproach  as  she  ejaculated:  "  Oh,  Francie!  " 

"  I  didn't  tell  her.  I  didn't  say  anything  about  your  being 
in  New  York,"  said  Francie.  Suddenly  they  all  three  began 
to  laugh. 

The  girls  told  him  Mrs.  Ballard  was  not  there  at  the 
moment ;  she  had  gone  out,  giving  the  excuse  of  some  slight 
errand,  but  actually  no  doubt  in  the  amiable  purpose  of 


190  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

letting  them  have  the  place  to  themselves  for  a  while.  "  1 
thought  Mother  looked  rather  excited  and  mysterious  when 
I  got  in  town  this  morning!  "  Mary  said.  "  Of  course  she 
wasn't  sure  that  you  would  come  to-day ;  but  she  and  Francie 
kept  the  whole  thing  dark,  anyhow."  She  faced  him  smiling, 
frankly  pleased,  without  a  trace  of  embarrassment.  It  could 
be  no  more  possible  for  her  than  it  was  for  him  to  forget 
what  had  passed  at  their  last  meeting;  but  she  had  decided 
to  act  forgetfulness  at  any  rate,  and  Steve  inwardly  owned 
that  she  was  right.  How  else  could  they  continue  friends? 
And  to  be  good  friends  with  her  was  all  that  he  had  any 
business  to  expect.  Mary  did  not  look  a  day  older,  he 
thought;  she  was  as  dimpled  and  fresh-cheeked  as  ever  — 
even  more  so.  The  life  of  a  physical  instructor  must  agree 
with  her,  he  said.  Mary  did  color  a  little  under  his  eyes, 
but  went  on  spreading  jam  on  her  toast,  defiantly  practical. 

"  Why,  of  course!  I  have  to  keep  perfectly  fit  the  whole 
time,  or  I  wouldn't  look  the  part.  I  wouldn't  be  convincing, 
you  know.  You  can't  go  around  preaching  balanced  rations 
and  regular  hours  for  fresh  air  and  exercise  and  all  that, 
without  making  yourself  into  a  kind  of  sample  of  what  it  all 
does  for  one,"  she  said,  waved  the  toast  in  the  air  and  took 
a  bite.  "  This  is  an  orgy,  coming  down  to  Francie's  every 
Sunday  and  stuffing  on  sweets,"  said  Mary.  "  The  rest  of 
the  week  I'm  terribly  strict  with  myself." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  live  here,  then?  " 

'' Gracious,  no!"  Both  girls  shrieked  hilariously  in 
unison;  and  both  began  to  explain.  If  Steve  could  see  the 
accommodations —  !  Mrs.  Ballard  had  a  cubby-hole  to 
herself;  Francie  bunked  on  any  old  lounge  or  divan  or  day- 
bed  in  the  studio ;  if  they  sold  it,  she  had  to  move  to  some 
other  piece  of  furniture.  There  was  a  bathroom,  thank  good- 
ness! They  had  behind  the  screen  a  "  one-hole  "  gas-stove 
and  with  it  and  the  grate- fire  they  sometimes  got  their 
breakfast,  never  any  heavier  meal  — "  On  account  of  the 
cookiness/'  Francie  said  seriously ;  "  Mrs.  Ballard  says  a 
studio  is  just  like  a  woman's  hair.  It  can  smell  of  almost 
anything,  incense  or  cigarettes  or  even  French  perfume  — 
anything  except  cooking!  " 

*' /   live   at   Miss   Ogden's  —  the   Mountaindale   School. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  191 

That's  where  /  live!  "  Mary  announced  pompously.  "  We 
rather  sniff  at  Bohemia  and  the  Bohemians.  Tuition 
twenty-five  hundred  a  year  (payable  in  advance)  and 
extras.  We  can't  really  allow  our  girls  to  mingle  with  the 
—  the  herd! " 

Steven  now  recollected  that  his  sister  Hester  had  gone 
there  for  two  years.  "  Mother  picked  it  out  after  looking 
over  about  two  hundred  prospectuses.  Hester  liked  it. 
Edith  wouldn't  go  there;  she  picked  Bryn  Mawr  on  her 
own  hook.  She  said  your  Mountaindale  was  too  flossy;  I 
believe  she  thought  all  of  them  were." 

Mary  nodded.  ''  Edith  wouldn't  like  it."  she  agreed  im- 
partially. "  There  aren't  many  girls,  and  the  course  isn't 
very  strenuous.  I  have  them  for  horseback  riding,  hockey, 
basket-ball,  swimming — all  those  things.  I  like  it  —  I 
mean  I  like  teaching,  you  know." 

"  They  like  you,  too,"  said  Francie. 

Mary  nodded  again,  affirming  quite  simply  and  openly 
that  they  liked  her.  ''At  least  they've  re-engaged  me  — 
and  that's  pretty  good  proof,"  she  said.  ''  I'm  glad.  I  wag 
so  anxious  to  make  good.  Now  let's  talk  about  you  for  a 
while,  Steve." 

"  No,  first  I  want  to  hear  more  about  these  interior-dec- 
orators." 

So  Francie  took  her  turn.  She  had  got  through  her  course 
at  the  Art  Institute;  and,  greatly  fearing,  greatly  daring,  had 
taken  some  money  of  her  own,  a  few  thousands  that  had 
come  to  her  by  her  grandfather  Burke's  will,  and  gone  into 
the  business  —  "Not  here,  at  first,  though,"  she  said.  "I 
was  up  on  Forty-Sixth,  just  off  the  Avenue.  It  was  too 
expensive  —  perfectly  awful  rent  and  everything  else  to 
correspond.  I've  learned  a  lot  since  then  —  and  it's  not 
quite  two  years!  But  one  learns  fast  in  New  York.  I  was 
as  green  —  !  "  She  shook  her  head  with  a  pitying  smile. 
It  appeared,  however,  that  she  had  really  acted  all  along  in 
what  even  much  older  and  wiser  heads  would  have  supposed 
to  be  a  practical  enough  manner;  that  is,  she  had  bought  out 
a  Mrs.  So-and-So,  a  person  of  some  repute,  the  owner  and 
manager  of  what  was  on  the  surface  a  "  going  concern  "  in 
trade  parlance.    Alas,  as  Francie  soon  found  out,  nothwith- 


192  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

standing  her  efforts,  some  of  which  owing  to  youth  and  inex- 
perience were  doubtless  misdirected,  the  concern  did  not  go, 
certainly  not  at  any  such  gait  as  had  been  promised;  it 
barely  limped.  Perhaps  it  had  never  been  so  steady  on  its 
feet  as  the  former  proprietor  had  represented,  though  Francie 
made  no  charges  or  complaints  on  that  score,  being  either  too 
proud  to  admit  that  she  had  been  taken  in,  or  too  consider- 
ate of  the  other  woman. 

"  I  don't  know  where  I'd  have  been  by  this  time.  I'd 
have  hated  to  give  up  and  get  out  —  go  back  home.  I  wasn't 
going  to  the  family  for  help,"  the  girl  said,  her  young  mouth 
-settling  momentarily  into  a  line  of  unyouthful  firmness.  ''  I 
don't  know  where  I'd  have  been  if  I  hadn't  come  across  Mary 
and  her  mother.  That  was  pure  luck.  They  were  living 
down  at  Cos  Cob  then,  and  Mary  was  coming  in  town  every 
day  to  go  to  that  Hygiene  and  Physical  Culture  place  —  " 

"  It  was  a  kind  of  normal  school,"  Mary  interposed,  paren- 
thetically. "  I  had  to  learn  how  to  teach,  of  course.  And 
then  we  had  classes  in  anatomy,  and  first-aid  work  —  jiu- 
jitsu  —  some  nursing.     They  give  a  diploma." 

"We  ran  into  each  other  at  a  Childs'  place,"  Francie 
went  on.  "  Afterwards  I  got  them  to  go  around  to  Forty- 
Sixth  just  to  see  it.  I  was  blue  and  lonesome,  anyhow.  But 
while  they  were  there,  the  first  customer  I'd  had  for  days 
came  in.  It  was  all  nothing  but  luck.  Along  came  this  lone, 
stray  man  and  saw  a  banjo-clock  in  the  window  and  thought 
he'd  go  in  and  ask  the  price,  and  what  it  was  for  besides  a 
clock!  He  thought  it  was  some  kind  of  a  machine,  and 
really  wanted  to  see  it  go,  I  do  believe.  Anyhow  he  wasn't 
intending  to  buy  it,  at  all.  I  was  in  the  back  of  the  shop  with 
Mary,  so  he  happened  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Ballard  first  —  he 
took  it  for  granted  she  was  a  clerk  —  " 

"Mrs.  Ballard?  He  must  have  been  one  sure-enough 
hick!  "  Steve  commented  forcibly. 

''  No,  he  was  all  right  —  he  just  didn't  know,"  said  Francie 
humanely,  although  she  did  smile  a  little  at  some  recollec- 
tion. ''  The  thing  was  that  she  had  an  inspiration  and  let 
him  keep  on  thinking  so !  She  says  she  made  up  her  mind  on 
the  spot  to  sell  him  that  clock  —  she  just  wanted  to  see  if 
she  couldn't!    And,  Steven,"  said  Francie,  in  impressive 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  193 

tones,  "  she  did!  She  stuck  the  first  price  on  it  that  came  into 
her  head  —  it  was  twice  what  I'd  put  on  —  and  she  sold 
it  to  him !  Then  she  went  on,  and  sold  him  an  old  Revolu- 
tionary belt  and  holsters  and  Washington  Crossing  the  Del- 
aware in  a  funny  old  Victorian  black  and  gilt  frame  that  I 
thought  I'd  never  get  rid  of  in  this  wide  world.  Why  he 
wanted  it  I  can't  imagine,  but  she  made  him  think  he  wanted 
it,  anyway!  " 

"  You  didn't  interfere?  " 

"  We  got  the  giggles,  and  had  to  go  and  hide  behind  that 
screen,"  Mary  said,  pointing  to  it.  "  Mother  kept  right  on 
just  as  if  she'd  been  at  it  all  her  life,  until  it  came  to  taking 
his  name  and  address  and  seeing  about  how  the  things  were 
to  be  sent,  you  know.  And  then  she  said:  '  Jicst  a  minutey 
please,  I  must  ask  the  manageinent  about  that!  ^  And  didn't 
she  come  back  and  call  '  Miss  Burke '  in  the  most  business- 
like voice ;  and  Francie  marched  out  and  they  went  through 
all  the  proper  motions  without  batting  an  eyelash!  "  said 
Mary,  rocking  with  laughter.  ''  The  man  never  knew  —  he 
never  suspected  a  thing!  " 

"  Why,  we  couldn't  let  him.  It  had  gone  too  far  by  that 
time;  we  had  to  act  it  out,"  said  Francie,  with  some  gravity. 
"  He  might  have  thought  he  was  being  made  fun  of,  and 
gone  off  in  a  huff  —  my  solitary  customer !  But  that's  what 
started  this  whole  thing,"  she  waved  her  hand  around; 
*'  that's  what  gave  us  the  idea.  Mrs.  Ballard  found  this 
place;  it's  ever  so  much  cheaper  than  the  other,  and  we  can 
both  live  here  —  after  a  fashion.  We  don't  mind;  we're  not 
really  uncomfortable.  And  people  like  it,  somehow.  Lots 
more  come  than  ever  did  at  the  Forty-Sixth  Street  shop; 
and  they  don't  seem  to  care  if  it  is  all  cluttered  up  this  way. 
I  like  things  in  order  myself.  It  was  beautiful  up  at  Forty- 
Sixth,"  said  Francie,  with  a  faint  sigh;  "  but  we  couldn't  do 
any  good  up  there,  and  here  we're  getting  along.  It's  slow, 
of  course,  but  we  are  getting  along."  She  poked  the  fire 
pensively,  evidently  regretting  the  Forty-Sixth  Street  place 
still,  against  her  better  judgment.  ''  Mrs.  Ballard  is  per- 
fectly wonderful.  I  don't  know  where  I'd  have  been  without 
her,"  she  reiterated  generously. 

"  Stuff !  Don't  talk  that  way  I  "  Mary  cried  out.  "  It's  — 
o 


194  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

it's  all  Francie's  money,  every  bit  of  it,  Steve.  I  don't  see 
why  you  shouldn't  know  it  —  I  don't  see  why  everybody 
shouldn't  know  it.  Mother  thought  she  could  do  it,  and 
Francie  let  her  try ;  and  then  by  good  luck  it  turned  out  that 
Mother  could  do  it,  sure  enough.  She  was  never  so  happy  in 
her  life;  she's  told  me  so  over  and  over  again.  She  was 
fairly  withering  away  in  that  horrible  second-rate  Cos  Cob 
boarding-house,  sitting  around  waiting  for  me  to  get  through 
my  course.  We  wouldn't  have  had  much  of  an  outlook,  even 
then.  I  had  great  plans  for  supporting  both  of  us  when  I 
got  a  position,  but  you  know  how  it  is  in  New  York,  Steve 
—  "  here  Mary  stopped  short  with  a  subtle  change  of  expres- 
sion. "  Or  do  5^ou  know?  "  she  demanded,  eying  him  doubt- 
fully. 

"  I  do !  "  the  young  fellow  assured  her,  coloring  and  smiling 
awkwardly,  but  with  an  accent  that  enforced  conviction. 
"  Been  scratching  around  myself  for  six  months  —  that's 
long  enough  to  find  out  a  few  things  about  New  York." 

There  was  an  infinitesimal  pause,  questions  which  neither 
girl  liked  to  ask  point  blank,  passing  through  the  minds  of 
both ;  but  Steven  answered  them  unasked.  "  I  had  a  fuss 
with  them  at  home  and  —  and,  well,  I  just  up  and  got  out.  I 
wasn't  doing  much  good  in  the  office,  anyhow,"  said  he;  and 
having  got  that  far,  found  no  difficulty  in  outlining  to  them 
the  rest  of  his  experiences  and  activities.  There  was  another 
little  silence  after  he  had  finished. 

''  Why,  we're  all  working,  aren't  we!  Don't  the  strangest 
things  happen,  though!  "  Mary  exclaimed  finally  in  a  sur- 
prise so  open  and  naive,  that  both  the  others  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  FEW  years  from  now  Steve  Rudd  will  probably  con- 
cede upon  a  review  of  his  debut  in  New  York  that  he 
had  astonishingly  good  luck.  The  association  with 
Eugene  would  have  been  convenient  and  instructive,  if  noth- 
ing else ;  but,  in  fact,  it  set  the  younger  man  upon  a  certain 
way  which,  left  to  himself  and  his  own  random  experiments, 
he  might  not  have  found.  Later,  at  the  house  of  Fulano,  he 
was  getting  along  well  enough,  but  might  conceivably  have 
spent  a  good  many  more  years  and  much  labor  without  pro- 
portionate profit,  had  not  one  of  his  superiors  most  oppor- 
tunely broken  a  leg,  tripping  over  a  bundle  of  newspapers  at 
the  foot  of  the  Subway  steps  in  the  rush  one  night.  Poor 
Mr.  Klingmann  was  laid  up  for  nearly  three  months;  Mr. 
Rudd  valiantly  assumed  his  duties,  carried  it  ofT  well,  and 
the  ensuing  first  of  January  "  got  a  raise  "  to  speak  techni- 
cally, both  in  salary  and  importance.  The  young  man  real- 
ized that  it  was  a  windfall  of  chance  such  as  he  might  have 
waited  a  lifetime  for  in  vain. 

''  It  doesn't  make  a  great  deal  of  difference  how  much  abil- 
ity you  have,  unless  you're  something  phenomenal  —  which 
I'm  not! "  he  confided  to  Mary,  valuing  himself  at  once 
shrewdly  and  humorously.  "  New  York's  full  of  ability.  I 
sometimes  get  to  thinking  that  I  can't  go  out  on  the  street 
and  throw  a  stone  without  hitting  some  fellow  that's  got 
more  brains  or  a  better  variety  of  brains  that  I  have.  How- 
ever —  !  "  Steve  grinned  and  tapped  his  forehead.  "  '  A  poor 
thing  but  mine  own,'  "  he  quoted  cheerfully.  "  I'm  not  dis- 
couraged. But  what  I  started  out  to  say  was  that  ability  of 
itself  wouldn't  serve;  you  can't  get  much  of  a  foothold  here 
without  some  good  luck.  Right  now,  I'm  having  mine,  and 
I  mean  to  make  the  most  of  it." 

"  Aren't  you  doing  any  writing  any  more?  " 

195 


196  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  Why  —  yes.  Once  in  a  while  I  try.  And  once  in  a  while 
I  get  something  accepted.    Verses,  you  know  —  " 

"  Oh,  Steve,  I  think  that's  wonderful !  What  are  they  in? 
Can't  I  get  the  magazine?  " 

"Oh,  they  aren't  anything  —  just  little  verses  — light 
stuff.  Rondeaux  and  ballads,  the  kind  of  thing  Locker- 
Lampson  used  to  do  — only,  of  course,  mine  aren't  in  the 
same  class  with  his.  Mine  will  just  about  pass,"  said  the 
young  fellow,  trying  hard  not  to  be  conceited  —  or,  at  any 
rate,  not  to  show  conceit!  —  over  his  achievements.  In  his 
heart  of  hearts,  Mr.  Steven  Rudd  probably  considered  him- 
self as  good  as  any  Locker-Lampson  that  ever  held  a  pen. 
As  for  Mary,  she  proclaimed  that  to  be  her  opinion,  openly; 
she  had  never  heard  of  Locker-Lampson,  and  a  rondeau 
vaguely  presented  itself  to  her  imagination  as  something 
written  somehow  in  a  circle  —  the  name  suggested  it.  But 
her  admiration  and  above  all,  her  warm  belief  in  him  were 
ineffably  sweet  to  this  rising  author. 

They  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  meeting  at  the  Lanthorn 
every  week ;  but  this  regularity  was  robbed  of  significance  by 
the  fact  that  the  studio  on  Sunday  afternoons  was  gradually 
coming  to  be  a  favorite  place  of  gathering  for  any  number 
of  other  eager,  fresh-spirited  young  adventurers  among  the 
arts.  They  hailed  from  everywhere,  except  the  city  itself; 
they  had  positions  in  church- choirs,  or  they  were  under- 
studies in  some  theatrical  company,  or  they  painted  at  the 
League,  or  they  had  gone  into  a  broker's  office  on  "  the 
Street,"  or  they  worked  for  one  of  the  newspapers.  It  was  not 
Bohemia ;  rather  it  might  have  been  likened  to  an  island  off 
the  Bohemian  coast.  The  girls  invariably  had  some  self- 
effacing  mother  or  some  ungifted  sister  sharing  the  board- 
ing-house back-bedroom,  towing  patiently  along  at  rehear- 
sals. The  young  men  were  never  out-of-pocket  or  out-at- 
elbows.  They  had  homes  where  they  sometimes  went  back  to 
visit,  in  Topeka,  in  El  Paso,  in  Sandusky,  in  Knoxville;  their 
families  wrote  to  them  and  sent  them  Christmas-boxes; 
there  were  snapshots  of  Dad  pushing  the  lawn-mower,  and  of 
old  Spot  asleep  on  the  front  steps,  and  of  Mother  with  Mat- 
tie's  baby,  strung  all  around  their  cheap  quarters,  to  say 
nothing  of  photographs  of  their  class,  and  of  sundry  "  home 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  197 

girls  "  to  whom  they  referred  with  a  bashfulness  or  a  pains- 
taking off-handedness  equally  tell-tale.  If  some  philandering 
went  on  amongst  these  young  people,  it  was  no  more  than 
what  might  have  gone  on  in  their  own  homes,  and  of  identical 
quality;  very  likely  they  were  all  familiar  with  the  charming 
pages  of  Trilby  and  the  Vie  de  Boheme,  but  something  sane, 
something  manly  and  womanly,  some  peculiarly  American 
gift  of  humor  made  it  plain  to  them  that  the  whole  charm  of 
the  life  therein  portrayed  resided  in  the  portrayal ;  the  life  it- 
self, they  discerned  to  be  in  the  main  very  dingy,  the  people 
who  led  it  not  too  clever.  Like  Steve,  like  Francie  Burke, 
they  were  one  and  all  too  strongly  imbued  with  the  ambition 
to  "  make  good  "  to  waste  time  on  these  hectic  banalities. 

Perhaps  Francie  was  not  the  sort  of  young  woman  to  at- 
tract any  other  and  freer  kind  of  society,  wherever  and  how- 
ever she  lived;  she  was  not  highly  sophisticated,  she  was 
merely  upright  and  sensible.  But  had  she  been  of  an  easier 
fibre,  "^there  was  still  Mrs.  Ballard,  and  the  studio  might 
have  had  a  worse  chaperon.  She  moved  among  the  young 
people,  an  unconscious  yet  most  eloquent  exponent  of  her 
only  creed,  that  of  manners,  incapable  of  awkwardness,  of 
the  least  descent  into  bad  taste.  Sandusky  and  El  Paso  were 
not  at  all  familiar  with  her  type,  which  belonged  to  an 
older  generation  and  possibly  to  a  social  order  of  which  the 
conventions  were  much  more  subtle  and  intricate;  unde- 
niably she  set  up  a  certain  standard ;  one  could  not  witness 
that  spectacle  of  inveterate  self-control  without  being  im- 
pressed by  it. 

''  I  don't  believe  Mrs.  Ballard  ever  lets  go  of  herself  for 
a  single  minute,"  one  extra-observant  youth  said  to  Steven; 
*'  of  course  it's  your  bread  and  butter  to  keep  your  temper; 
you'd  have  to  learn  to,  even  if  you  didn't  want  to  for  your 
own  sake.  But  she  never  lets  go  in  any  direction  —  t€mper 
or  anything  else.  She's  got  it  down  to  a  fine  art.  You  know 
her  and  Miss  Burke  pretty  well,  don't  you?  You  used  to 
know  each  other  before  you  came  here?  Has  Mrs.  Ballard 
always  been  like  that?  " 

''  Oh  yes,  as  long  as  I  can  remember,"  said  Steven,  and  he 
added  further  that  she  had  been  very  prettv  as  a  younger 
woman. 


198  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  She's  bright  too;  she  has  lots  of  sense.  It  takes  sense  1  ^ 
the  other  announced  with  deep  conviction.  He  did  not 
specify  what  it  was  that  took  sense,  but  Steven  understood. 
Afterwards  he  reported  this  unbiased  judgment  to  Mary, 
with  laughter. 

''  Well,  he's  right.  Mother  is  clever,"  said  Mary,  soberly 
when  her  first  amusement  had  passed.  '^  I  don't  mean  she's 
clever  like  Francie;  it's  in  a  different  way.  I  think  they're 
a  wonderful  combination;  neither  of  them  could  get  along 
very  well  without  the  other.  Francie  has  ever  so  much 
character  and  originality,  and  she  doesn't  mind  work  and 
trouble,  and  she  knows  her  profession  down  to  the  ground. 
But,  Steve,  she  doesn't  know  people.  Mother  does ;  Mother's 
spent  her  whole  life  studying  people.  And  that's  just  as 
much  a  part  of  their  business  as  Francie's  end  of  it.  It  was 
all  Mother's  doing  when  they  went  down  to  Tenth  Street. 
Do  you  know  why  she  made  that  move?  She  had  it  all 
thought  out.  She  said  to  me:  '  Francie  will  never  make  a  go 
of  it,  with  that  elaborate  place  she's  got;  it's  perfectly  un- 
interesting, What  people  like  is  some  little  hole-in-the-wall 
shop  with  everything  higgledy-piggledy,  w^iere  they  can 
drop  in  and  mouse  around,  and  imagine  they're  ^'  picking 
up  "  bargains.  The  average  person  dearly  loves  to  "  pick 
up"  his  antiques  or  curios;  in  a  place  like  Francie's,  he's 
sure  to  think  that  she's  overcharging  and  that  the  things 
aren't  genuine,  anyhow.'  Mercy,  the  people  I've  listened  to 
by  the  hour  while  they  bragged  about  the  gems  they'd 
'picked  up'!  Oh,  you  needn't  laugh,"  said  Mary,  though 
by  this  time  she  herself  was  smiling.  "  You  know  it's  so. 
Anyway,  Mother  finally  persuaded  Francie  to  move  down 
here  —  and  the  proof  of  the  pudding's  the  eating!  Why, 
Steve,  I've  seen  Mother  let  a  set  of  old  hammered  iron  hinges 
go  for  less  than  they  cost  just  so  that  a  customer  could  go 
around  patting  himself  on  the  back  for  his  remarkable  taste 
and  keenness  about '  picking  up  '  —  and  then  she  invariably 
gets  out  even  or  better  than  even  by  selling  him  a  lamp  or  a 
basket  or  something,  at  a  good  big  profit!  He's  in  such  a 
good  temper,  you  know." 

Steven  shouted  with  laughter  over  her  ingenuous  exposi- 
tion of  Mrs.  Ballard's  business  methods.    "  But  what  does 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  199 

Francie  say  to  it?  "  he  wanted  to  know.  *'  She  doesn't  work 
the  customers  that  way?  " 

''  Steve,  she  can't!  "  said  Mary  seriously.  "  She  knows 
she  can't,  so  she  just  leaves  all  that  to  Mother.  Why 
shouldn't  she?    There's  nothing  wrong  about  it." 

''  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  intimate  anything  of  that  kind." 
He  meditated  awhile.  "  But  don't  tell  me  they  roped  in  — 
er  —  that  is,  they  didn't  get  old  Sackett  by  those  tactics?  I 
can't  believe  that." 

*'  No.  That  just  happened.  He  saw  their  advertisement, 
and  liked  it.  But  Mother  did  most  of  the  —  the  managing, 
afterwards.  That  was  a  splendid  order;  one  or  two  more 
like  it  would  set  them  on  their  feet  solidly.  They  haven't 
quite  finished  with  him  yet.  He  seems  to  want  them  to  go 
ahead  and  do  just  what  they  please  to  the  house,  without 
giving  a  thought  to  the  money  it  takes.  Mother  says  it's 
delightful  to  be  so  free;  it's  a  great  experience.  She  says  it 
won't  add  anything  to  their  reputation  —  it  won't  pay  that 
way;  because  the  poor  man  doesn't  know  anybody,  and 
hasn't  any  friends  to  show  it  to ;  and  that's  the  best  sort  of 
advertisement,"  said  Mary,  looking  thoughtful.  "  But  they'll 
make  money  on  it.  Besides  she's  really  interested.  Mother 
loves  pretty  things.  She's  had  some  before-and-after  photo- 
graphs taken,  just  to  show  what  they  can  do  with  what  looks 
like  a  hopeless  proposition." 

It  will  be  seen  from  the  above  fragments  which  were  fair 
samples  of  all  their  talk  that  Mr.  Rudd  and  Miss  Ballard, 
whatever  was  in  the  mind  of  either,  stuck  to  admirably  safe 
topics  nowadays,  though  they  were  much  more  frank  and 
direct  than  ever  before.  Mary  had  spoken  to  him  of  her  own 
affairs,  as  well  as  of  her  mother's.  It  appeared  she  had  bor- 
rowed money  of  Mr.  Stillman  to  embark  upon  the  Institute- 
of-Hygiene  venture.  '^  I  went  to  Uncle  John  and  told  him 
what  I  wanted  to  do,"  she  said.  "  You  see  I'd  thought  and 
thought,  and  it  seemed  to  me  about  the  only  thing  I  could 
do  —  go  into  athletics,  be  a  professional  coach  at  some  game 
or  something  like  that.  Men  do  it,  I  thought,  and  why 
couldn't  I?  Especially  as  long  as  I  hadn't  any  talent  for 
anything  else,  and  couldn't  take  the  time  and  didn't  have 
any  money  for  a  great  long  course  of  study.     If  I'd  been 


200  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

brainy  like  Francie  —  !  But  I'm  not,  so  there  wasn't  any 
use  bothering!  "  said  the  girl,  philosophically.  "  I  went  to 
Uncle  John,  and  he  was  very  nice.  He  listened  just  as  if 
I'd  been  a  man.  When  I  got  all  through  he  asked  me  how 
much  I  thought  I'd  need,  and  I  told  him,  and  he  said  all 
right,  he'd  let  me  have  it.  But  he  said  I  must  understand 
that  it  was  a  loan;  he  wasn't  giving  it  to  me;  I  must  pay  him 
back  as  soon  as  I  got  to  making  a  fair  living.  He  said  it 
didn't  do  anybody  any  good  to  help  them  too  much.  And 
was  I  willing  to  go  ahead  on  that  understanding?  I  said: 
'  That's  all  right,  Uncle  John.  I  may  be  pretty  slow  pay, 
but  I'll  pay.  I'd  rather  have  it  that  way.'  Then  he  said 
that  was  the  talk,  and  something  about  responsibility  putting 
backbone  into  people  —  I  can't  quite  remember  all  he  said 
now,  I  was  a  good  deal  excited,  you  know  —  and  then  we 
shook  hands  like  two  men,  and  that  was  all.  It's  so  funny,  I 
was  dreadfully  afraid  of  him  at  the  beginning,  and  it  turned 
out  to  be  as  easy!  " 

*'  You've  seen  him  since?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  whenever  he's  in  New  York.  He  comes  often, 
you  know.  I  haven't  paid  him  a  cent  yet,  but  I'm  going  to  — 
I  have  a  little  of  it  saved  up.  Steve,  do  you  know  I've  never 
said  a  word  to  him  about  paying  since  that  first  time?  I've 
got  a  feeling  that  he  doesn't  want  me  to  —  " 

"  That's  right,"  said  Steven  quickly.    "  He  doesn't." 

"  Time  enough  to  talk  when  I've  got  the  money,"  said 
Mary.  ''  He  knows  I  can't  do  it  right  off."  To  another 
question,  she  answered  with  a  laugh  that  she  didn't  believe 
Uncle  John  quite  knew  what  to  make  of  her  mother.  "  I 
don't  think  he  had  any  confidence  in  her  at  all,  until  he  went 
down  one  day  and  found  an  old  Swiss  cross-bow  and  a  rusty 
old  piece  of  armor,  the  kind  they  used  to  wear  rather  like  a 
sleeveless  sweater,  you  know;  Francie  says  they  called  it  a 
'  back-and -breast.'  Well,  Mother  sold  him  the  things,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  very  much  impressed!  He  sent  Clara  down,  and 
she  bought  something,  too.  Clara  never  did  care  anything 
about  us,  though,  you  know.  George  is  just  the  same  as 
ever;  he's  a  dear!    I  felt  so  sorry  about  the  baby." 

"  Yes,  George  was  all  broken  up.  He  told  me  that  he 
could  have  stood  the  disappointment  better  if  the  poor  little 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  201 

thing  had  been  born  dead,  or  had  died  at  once;  but  living  a 
month  and  then  dying  —  !  He  wanted  to  have  a  little  girl, 
and  it  turned  out  to  be  a  little  girl  and  everything  seemed 
to  be  going  along  beautifully.  It  was  tough  luck.  But  of 
course  they'll  have  others." 

Miss  Ballard  made  no  reply  to  this  last  piece  of  prophecy, 
maybe  because  the  subject  was  one  which  even  the  astound- 
ingly  free-spoken  young  men  and  women  of  the  present 
generation  avoid  discussing  together  in  too  much  detail;  or 
it  may  be  that  she  entertained  some  doubts  that  the  George 
Stillmans  would  enlarge  their  family  as  suggested.  Mrs. 
George  was  not  at  all  a  maternally  inclined  person;  on  the 
one  occasion  when  they  had  talked  in  confidence  since  her 
bereavement,  she  had  been  quite  bitterly  eloquent  about  the 
disadvantages  of  motherhood.  It  w^as  ''horrid";  you 
couldn't  go  anyw4iere  for  months  and  months;  they  might 
talk  as  they  pleased  about  clothes,  nothing  looked  nice;  you 
were  terribly  afraid  all  the  time  that  you  would  never  get 
back  to  your  natural  figure  again;  and  for  that  matter, 
w^omen  who  had  more  than  one  baby  never  did;  they  never 
looked  the  same;  no  kind  of  dreadful  disease  could  be  so 
ruinous  to  your  appearance.  She  was  not  going  to  let  /ler- 
self  be  spoiled  that  way,  all  dumpy  and  flabby !  Men  were 
so  queer,  so  selfish;  they  didn't  seem  able  to  understand. 
They  actually  thought  you  loved  to  go  through  all  that  suf- 
fering, and  be  all  out  of  shape  and  disgusting,  etc.,  etc.  Mary 
could  still  hear  Hester's  excited  little  voice,  ascending  into 
bird-like  shrillness  now  and  then,  while  she  volubly 
descanted  on  these  wrongs,  not  abating  one  item  in  consider- 
ation of  George's  presence.  He  sat  by,  troubled  and  awk- 
ward, sometimes  venturing  a  deprecatory  mumble. 

"  You  —  you  mustn't  pay  too  much  attention  to  what  she 
says,  she  doesn't  mean  half  of  it.  Her  nerves  are  —  they're 
all  unstrung,  you  know  —  everything  she's  been  through,  you 
know,"  he  explained  miserably  as  he  took  Mary  down  in  the 
little  gilded  elevator  from  their  gilded  hot^l-suite.  ''  The 
baby  was  awfully  cute,  Mary,  I  —  I  wish  you  could  have 
seen  her.  She  had  such  pretty  eyes,"  said  poor  George  wist- 
fully. "  But  anyhow  you  mustn't  attach  too  much  impor- 
tance to  the  w^ay  Hester  talks  just  now.  It's  been  a  pretty 
Aad  time  for  her." 


202  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

Mary  responded  with  warm  and  comprehending  words, 
but  she  thought  with  a  wrench  at  her  heart,  as  she  went  off 
in  the  taxi  which  George  insisted  on  providing  for  her  —  out 
of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  she  saw  him  tip  the  chauffeur  — 
Mary  thought  that  it  had  not  been  and  was  not  likely  to  be 
nearly  so  bad  a  time  for  Hester  as  for  George  himself. 
Hester,  to  tell  the  truth,  did  not  look  much  like  the  invalid 
he  represented  her  to  be,  and  perhaps  had  persuaded  himself 
into  believing  her;  on  the  contrary  she  was  as  blooming, 
fresh  and  soignee  as  ever  in  an  imported  toilette,  and  her 
much  abused  figure  had  lost  none  of  its  ravishing  proportions 
and  pliancy.  The  room  was  piled  with  boxes  from  half  the 
milliners  and  modistes  in  New  York;  furs,  lace  negliges, 
dashing  sport  shoes  and  coats  disputed  possession  of  all  the 
chairs.  Hester  had  been  shopping  for  three  days,  in  prepara- 
tion for  Newport;  it  appeared  that  she  hadn't  a  rag  to  wear 
—  impossible  to  get  anything  at  home.  They  were  going  to 
"  Journey's  End  "  later  in  the  summer,  when  George  might 
run  on  up  to  that  little  place  of  his  in  Nova  Scotia.  None 
of  that  for  Mrs.  George,  however!  According  to  her  report, 
it  was  a  dismal  hole,  nothing  going  on,  and  nobody  you  eared 
to  know. 

Numbers  of  the  Rudd  connection,  of  course,  passed  through 
the  city  from  time  to  time ;  do  not  all  roads  in  these  United 
States  lead  to  New  York?  Steven  saw  Hester,  too,  and  the 
rest  of  the  family  once  in  a  while,  excepting  his  father; 
somehow  Lawson  was  always  out  of  the  hotel,  or  he  had  not 
come  with  them  on  this  particular  trip;  he  had  gone  on 
ahead,  or  would  follow  later.  The  father  and  son  had  not 
met  since  that  fateful  day  in  December,  more  than  two  years 
ago;  if  either  one  was  sore  at  heart,  he  kept  it  to  himself. 
Eugene  Rudd  once  asked  Steven  if  he  ever  wrote  home,  and 
if  they  knew  what  he  was  doing,  how  he  lived. 

'*  Why,  of  course!"  said  the  young  fellow,  stiffly.  "I 
didn't  run  away,  and  I'm  not  in  hiding.  They  know  all 
about  me.  I  —  I  don't  hear  from  my  father  direct;  that's 
not  to  be  expected.  But  I've  a  letter  from  Mother  here  now; 
you  can  see  it  if  you  like." 

''  Oh,  I  can  see  it  if  I  like  —  and  be  damned  to  me  for  an 
inquisitive  busybody,  hey?  "  said  Eugene,  with  perfect  good 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  203 

humor.  "  Never  mind,  I  don't  want  to  see  your  corre- 
spondence, Mr.  Rudd."  After  which  little  tilt  they  dropped 
the  subject,  nor,  by  tacit  agreement,  was  it  ever  again 
brought  up  between  them. 

Readers  of  this  history,  however,  may  care  to  know  that 
at  this  time  Steve  was  living  in  another  set  of  pigeon-holes 
similar  to  those  Eugene  occupied,  on  a  higher  floor  of  the 
same  building.  From  camping  with  an  iron  cot-bed  and  a 
kitchen-table  and  chair,  he  had  gradually  advanced  to  such 
luxuries  as  a  shelf  of  books,  mostly  in  foreign  tongues  — 
any  member  of  Fulano's  staff  could  get  whatever  he  wanted 
at  cost  —  and  sundry  other  furnishings  acquired  from 
"  real  "  second-hand  shops  of  "  real  "  junk-dealers,  as  he 
informed  the  firm  of  Burke  and  Ballard  with  pointed  empha- 
sis. He  had  the  ladies  up  to  tea,  and  entertained  Jack 
Burke  and  Mrs.  Burke  when  they  came  east  to  visit  Francie. 
Mrs.  Burke  made  a  famous  Welsh-rarebit  on  the  occasion; 
and  they  all  professed  great  surprise  at  the  homelike  possi- 
bilities of  this  cramped  corner  in  a  tenement-house.  Not 
long  afterwards  Steven  heard  in  regard  to  it  from  a  totally 
unexpected  quarter,  to  wit:     Mr.  Adam  J.  Sackett! 

"  I'm  told  you've  got  a  real  nice  cozy  place  of  your  own 
up  there  to  St.  John's  Building,"  this  gentleman  remarked, 
encountering  him  one  day  on  the  street.  '^  Hear  it  has  very 
marked  atmosphere,  and  reflects  your  personality  in  a  very 
marked  degree  —  "  And  seeing  Steven  reduced  to  inarticu- 
late astonishment  at  the  above  expressions,  which  indeed 
came  with  a  weird  and  unnatural  effect  in  strong  contrast 
to  Mr.  Sackett's  ordinary  style,  he  grinned,  then  chuckled, 
then  laughed  outright. 

"  I  got  that  from  Mrs.  Ballard.  Why,  I  sh'd  think  you'd 
have  guessed  right  off!  "  he  said.  "  Ain't  it  nifty,  though?  " 
And  here,  while  Steve  was  still  speechless,  Mr.  Sackett  tilted 
his  chin  upwards,  raising  an  imaginary  eyeglass  and  survey- 
ing an  imaginary  room  in  a  grotesque  yet  entirely  recog- 
nizable parody.  "Very  nice!"  he  drawled  mincingly; 
"  nice  feeling  in  that  panelling,  don't  you  think?  And  it's  so 
diflScult  to  ketch  the  neo-classic  spirits  of  the  First  Ompeere, 
too  —  hoo,  hoo,  ho,  ha,  ha  I  "  said  Mr.  Sackett,  exploding  in  a 
laugh  that  caused  passers-by  to  turn  and  stare.  He  punched 
Steven  in  the  ribs.    **  Ain't  it  great?  " 


204  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  Why,  you  seem  to  appreciate  it  fully,  Mr.  Sackett,"  said 
Steve,  obliged  to  laugh  himself.  '^  I'm  sure  Mrs.  Ballard 
will  be  glad  she  has  succeeded  so  well.  She  deserves  to  suc- 
ceed; she's  genuinely  interested  and  very  artistic  — "  he 
halted,  as  the  other,  facing  him,  screwed  one  entire  side  of 
his  face  into  a  wink  of  combined  humor,  sagacity  and  satiri- 
cal import. 

'^  Sure!  She's  all  that  —  and  then  some!  "  he  announced. 
"  Say,  young  man,  I  owe  you  something  for  tipping  me  off  to 
this  house-decorating  business.  I  haven't  had  so  much  solid 
enjoyment  since  I  quit  work.  D'ye  know  that  Mrs.  Ballard's 
a  smart  woman?  Yes,  sir,  that's  what  she  is,  a  smart 
woman.  Look  at  all  the  money  she's  got  out  of  me,  what 
with  the  dessoo-day-ports  and  the  Chinese  fiddle-faddles  and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  I  buy  'em  all,  you  know,  whatever  she 
steers  me  up  against,  just  like  a  lamb  —  just  like  I  didn't 
know  she  got  a  rake-off  on  each  and  every  one  of  'em.  Why, 
why  shouldn't  she?  "  he  asked  openly,  as  Steven  made  a 
movement  of  dissent.  "  'S  all  right.  She's  got  to  live.  And 
I'm  willing.  It  entertains  me.  I'm  on  all  the  time,  only  she 
don't  know  it;  she  thinks  I'm  an  easy  old  bird  —  and  that 
entertains  me!  Pretty  woman,  too  —  of  course  she's  not 
young  any  more ;  but  you  know  my  taste.  The  young  ones 
don't  appeal  to  me.  The  way  they  dress  nowadays,  you  can't 
tell  half  the  time  whether  they're  coming  or  going.  In  my 
young  days,  they  had  some  figure  to  'em,  and  Mrs.  Ballard 
naturally  belongs  to  that  set  —  about  twenty-five  or  thirty 
years  ago.  Tell  you,  you  knew  what  corsets  were  for  in 
those  days." 

'^  Well,  I'd  like  to  see  the  house  when  it's  all  finished," 
said  Steven,  rather  precipitately ;  he  was  remotely  disturbed 
by  the  tenor  of  these  remarks.  "  It  must  be  very  much 
improved." 

''  It  ought  to  be  at  the  price,"  said  Sackett,  with  feeling. 
"Why,  I'd  be  glad  to  have  you  see  it;  and  the  other  Mr. 
Rudd  too.  You  bring  him  along.  Tell  you  what,  we  could 
have  a  dinner.  That's  it,  we'll  have  a  dinner!  I'll  see  if 
Mrs.  Ballard  and  the  other  young  lady,  the  young  one,  I'll 
see  if  they  can  come.  We'll  have  a  dinner  —  swallow-tail 
coats  and  white  ties  and  everything,  like  these  society  plays 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  205 

on  the  stage.  You've  got  one,  haven't  you?  A  dress-suit, 
I  mean?  That's  the  kind  of  thing  Mrs.  Ballard's  used  to. 
Say,"  he  added,  with  renewed  amusement;  "  you'd  ought  to 
see  the  hired  help  stand  around  when  she  speaks  to  'em. 
And  she  don't  speak  rough,  either.  You'd  ought  to  see  them; 
it's  a  circus!  " 

Amazing  to  relate,  this  festivity  actually  did  come  off 
with  the  company  indicated,  excepting  Eugene  who,  alas, 
happened  to  be  "sick"  when  the  date  —  New  Year's  Eve 
—  arrived.  Steven  put  on  formal  dress  as  required,  and 
went  over  to  Madison  Avenue,  and  was  received  in  the  trans- 
figured drawing-room  by  the  host,  who  looked  not  absolut€ly 
comfortable,  but  pleased  and  eager  in  an  obviously  brand- 
new  suit  of  evening-clothes  about  which  he  urgently 
requested  Steve's  opinion.  "  I  give  the  tailor  a  hundred  and 
seventy-five  for  this  outfit.  You  only  get  about  one  full 
dress-suit  in  your  life,  so  what's  the  use  being  a  piker  about 
it?  "  he  pointed  out  reasonably.  "  Do  you  think  the  back 
sets  right,  though?  " 

"  First-rate!  "  Steven  assured  him.  ''  The  house  is  beau- 
tiful.   I'd  never  have  recognized  it." 

''Hey?  Yes.  Look  here,  these  are  the  right  kind  of  shoes, 
ain't  they?  The  young  fellows  are  always  up  on  points 
like  that.  I  just  had  to  take  the  clerk's  word  for  it.  They 
seemed  to  me  kind  of  neat;  thing  is  I  don't  want  'em  too 
dressy  for  a  man  of  my  age."  Being  assured  on  this  ques- 
tion, too,  he  took  time  to  notice  Steven's  other  remarks. 
''  Yes,  it  {-s  changed.  I'll  take  you  all  over  it  after  dinner. 
One  of  the  beds  has  a  pink  silk  spread  with  lace  over  it  and 
these  here  little  flowers  like  on  a  hat,  you  know.  Three  hun- 
dred iron  men!  I  says  to  Mrs.  Ballard  —  she'd  been  talking 
some  more  about  'atmosphere'  —  I  says:  'My,  my,  you 
wouldn't  think  air  —  just  plain  air,  would  come  so  high, 
now,  would  you?  '  She  laughed  —  she  has  to  laugh  at  my 
jokes,  you  know!  "  said  the  ex-saloon-keeper,  winking  with 
a  sudden  exhibition  of  his  defeating  shrewdness.  "  Always 
laugh  at  your  customer's  jokes  —  that's  a  matter  of  prin- 
ciple! Say,  I  sent  a  car  down  for  the  ladies.  They'd  ought 
to  be  here  by  now,  seems  to  me." 

Steven  reminded  him  that  the  holiday  crowds  and  cabs 


206  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

were  very  thick;  to  which  Mr.  Sackett  assented  absent- 
mindedly,  walking  about,  fidgeting  with  his  watch,  furtively 
examining  himself  and  straightening  his  white  waistcoat  be- 
fore the  pier-glasses.  Steven  sat  down  on  an  ''  Ompeer  " 
sofa,  slim-legged,  with  brocaded  satin  cushions  in  tender 
hues  of  blue,  cream  and  cinnamon,  outlined  with  silver 
thread;  the  walls  and  draperies  repeated  the  same  shades 
with  an  effect  of  pale  richness ;  peacocks,  pedestals,  Worces- 
ter china,  red  velvet  curtains,  great  lumbering  chandeliers 
had  all  been  deposed,  and  in  their  place  were  Mrs.  Ballard's 
panellings,  her  Aubusson  carpet,  her  severely  beautiful  white 
marble  mantel  with  the  pair  of  Wedgwood  vases,  her  sconces 
in  a  delicate  glitter  of  prisms.  And  presently  here  was  Mrs. 
Ballard  herself,  conspicuously  suited  to  this  setting,  with 
her  gray  hair  dressed  high  and  modishly,  and  a  trained  black 
velvet  dress,  and  a  becoming  twist  of  chiffon  around  her 
throat  which  had  once  been  as  prettily  round  as  Mary's,  but 
was  now  a  little  too  thin.  Steven  wondered  to  see  that  she 
quite  outshone  Francie,  who  had  the  air  of  a  well-born  young 
page  in  attendance  on  some  countess;  but  Francie  had 
not  cultivated  the  social  arts  with  Mrs.  Ballard's  assiduity ; 
and  perhaps  indeed  would  never  acquire  the  older  woman's 
suave  distinction,  no  matter  how  hard  she  tried.  It  was 
difficult  to  imagine  her  trying,  however;  as  Mary  had  said 
of  her,  she  did  not  know  people. 

It  was  no  doubt  owing  to  the  apparently  effortless  efforts 
of  the  older  lady  that  the  ceremony  of  dinner  went  off  so 
successfully;  yet  in  fairness  it  should  be  noted  that  Mr. 
Sackett  cut  no  bad  figure  at  the  head  of  his  table.  He  was 
rather  silent,  rather  watchful  of  his  own  knife  and  fork  and 
of  the  others'  methods  of  handling  theirs ;  he  addressed  Mrs. 
Ballard  scrupulously  as  '^  ma'am  "  and  Francie  with  not 
quite  so  much  care  and  deference  as  "  miss."  But  he  was  not 
afraid  of  the  servants  and  did  not  bully  them ;  he  ate  with  a 
moderation  evidently  habitual,  and  drank  barely  enough  to 
keep  his  guests  in  countenance,  though  the  cooking  was  good 
and  the  champagne  above  criticism,  "  Yes,  I  expect  I  ought 
to  know  something  about  liquor,"  he  said  simply,  in  reply  to 
some  appreciative  comment.  There  were  rich  folk  of 
Steve's  and  Mrs.  Ballard's  acquaintance,  of  their  supposedly 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  207 

Brahmin  caste,  who  might  have  profited  by  a  lesson  or  two 
from  this  old  retired  whiskey-seller  upon  such  points  as  how 
not  to  be  pompous,  affected  and  ostentatious.  Whether  his 
manners  were  governed  by  common-sense,  a  certain  right 
feeling,  or  merely  the  wary  study  of  his  fellow-men,  they 
were  good  enough  manners;  and  if  his  grammar  was  imper- 
fect, he  never  failed  to  speak  to  the  point  and  with  essential 
clearness.  So  Steven  thought,  and  wondered  if  Mrs.  Ballard 
agreed  with  him.  What  Mrs.  Ballard  thought  or  felt,  though, 
was  impossible  of  surmise;  it  was  even  likely  that  she  her- 
self did  not  know  the  actual  woman,  the  true  Ellen  Ballard 
was  buried  so  deep  beneath  layers  of  caution,  policy,  self- 
restraint,  polite  artifice.  That  she  was  sincerely  interested 
in  her  new  profession  could  not  be  doubted,  however;  it  was 
manifest  in  the  frankly  critical,  almost  proprietary  survey 
she  sent  about  the  rooms. 

"  You  see  I  was  right,  Mr.  Sackett.  For  a  little  party  like 
this,  you  need  this  little  place,"  she  said  not  without  tri- 
umph, reopening  some  previous  argument,  it  would  seem,  as 
they  sat  about  the  table  in  the  elegantly  coquettish,  painted 
breakfast-room.  ''  The  dining-room  is  perfect  in  spirit, 
very  gracious  and  hospitable  in  a  splendid  way  —  but  it's 
altogether  too  formal,  too  spacious;  it's  only  suitable  for 
state  occasions  —  when  you  give  a  dinner  to  the  President, 
for  instance  —  " 

"  I  don't  aim  to  invite  Woodrow  yet  awhile,"  said  Sackett; 
"  He's  not  expecting  it  of  me  anyhow.  I've  always  voted  the 
straight  Republican  ticket." 

''  Well,  when  you  ask  Mr.  Roosevelt,  then,"  she  retorted 
briskly.  "  What  I  insist  on  your  noticing  is  that  we'd  be  lost 
in  that  great  salon  to-night,  so  few  of  us.  And  on  the  other 
hand  see  how  intimate  and  charming  this  room  is!  " 

"  Intimate  and  charming.  You  said  it!  "  assented  Sack- 
ett, with  the  faintest  possible  twitch  of  the  eyelid  on  Steve's 
side.  He  looked  around  the  table,  genial  and  satisfied.  "  I 
call  this  a  nice  size  party  to  have,  two  and  two." 

''  I  wish  Mary  were  here,"  Francie  said.  ''  It  must  be  ages 
since  she's  been  out  anywhere." 

"  Who  is  '  Mary'?  "  their  host  asked  alertly.  And,  on 
being  told,  "  Your  daughter?  "  he  said,  eying  Mrs.  Ballard. 
"  I  didn't  know  you  had  a  daughter." 


208  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  Yes,  indeed.  She's  only  a  year  or  two  younger  than 
Mr.  Rudd.    Oh,  I'm  an  old  woman,  Mr.  Sackett!  " 

Mr.  Sackett 's  rejoinder  was  not  the  obvious  compliment; 
instead  he  said:  "  I'm  not  as  young  as  I  was  myself."  The 
two  seniors  looked  at  each  other  companionably ;  for  the 
moment  they  felt  much  nearer  together  than  the  young 
people  across  the  table. 

''  Well,  to-morrow's  another  year,  anyhow!  "  said  Steven, 
feeling  it  incumbent  on  somebody  to  avert  silences  and 
gravity.  ^'  They  were  beginning  the  regulation  racket  —  tin 
horns  and  all  that  —  when  I  started  up  town,  and  the  cab- 
arets were  filling  up.    Listen  to  that,  now !  " 

A  siren  on  some  boat  anchored  up  the  river  had  set  up  a 
wailing  salute,  ending,  by  some  deft  manipulation  on  the 
part  of  the  artist  in  charge  of  it,  in  a  series  of  staccato  sobs 
nicely  diminishing  in  volume.  "  Old  Nineteen-Thirteen's 
hitting  the  trail!  "  said  Sackett,  when  the  final  goblin  ulula- 
tion  had  died  away.  "  We'd  ought  to  have  a  drink  to  Nine- 
teen-Fourteen.  Somebody  give  a  sentiment.  Mrs.  Ballard, 
3^ou  give  a  sentiment,  won't  you?  " 

"  Nineteen-Fourteen !  Peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  every- 
body! "  said  Mrs.  Ballard. 

''Peace  on  earthy  good-will  all  around!"  said  Sackett, 
with  approval.  ''  That's  all  right,  I  guess.  I  thought  you 
could  think  up  a  good  one,  and  you  did!  Nineteen-Four- 
teen, good-will  all  around !  That's  more  likely  to  come  true 
than  most  New  Year's  wishes  you  hear.  It's  not  so  far- 
fetched." 


CHAPTER  VII 

ALL  this  while,  this  three  years  or  more,  it  is  not  to  be 
supposed  that  Mr.  Steven  Rudd's  family  were  sitting 
in  sackcloth  and  ashes  because  of  the  young  gentle- 
man's headlong  withdrawal  from  home  and  their  society. 
His  mother  and  his  sister  Hester,  even  had  they  known  the 
cause,  would  not  have  been  greatly  interested,  much  less 
impressed;  if  there  was  a  moral  lesson  involved,  it  would 
have  escaped  them;  they  would  have  serenely  lumped  old 
David's  transactions  in  quinine  with  all  commercial  transac- 
tions of  all  men  everywhere.     Such  matters  appertained 
strictly  to  ''  business,"  and  were  therefore  not  to  be  ques- 
tioned or  cavilled  at,  not  to  be  understood  and  most  em- 
phatically not  to  be  bothered  over  by  any  woman.    Steven's 
departure  they   explained  to  themselves   after   much   the 
same  formula  —  if  they  took  the  trouble  to  explain  it  at 
all;  when  it  came  to  explanations  to  other  people,  outsiders, 
both  were  ready;  they  would  have  been  sincerely  mortified 
had  they  failed  in  the  feminine  accomplishment  of  explain- 
ing, smoothing  over,  saving  everybody's  face.    Steve?    Yes, 
he  was  in  New  York,  writing.    You  know  he  always  had  that 
turn;  at  college  he  was  very  good,  really  clever,  people  said. 
Yes,  he  was  in  New  York,  that's  where  everybody  that 
wanted  to  do  anything  of  that  kind  always  went;  they're  all 
the  time  looking  for  material,  you  know.     Steve  was  just 
like  all  the  rest,  the  ones  you  read  about  —  it  must  be  the 
most  ridiculous,  unconventional,  Bohemian,  happy-go-lucky 
existence.    Imagine:  he  pressed  his  own  trousers!     Oh  yes, 
my  dear,  he  had  written  them  about  pressing  his  trousers, 
and  making  coffee;  and  living  in  some  weird,  out-of-the-way 
hole  with  a  lot  of  other  literary  and  artistic  nuts  —  this  was 
Hester's  version  —  like  himself.  Perfectly  ghastly,  but  Steve 
loved  it;  it  exactly  suited  him;  he  was  absolutely  happy.  Of 
course  they  would  have  much  preferred  for  him  to  stay  at 
p  209 


210  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

home;  it  was  hard  not  to  see  him  for  such  long  stretches  of 
time  —  here  Mrs.  Rudd  would  look  down  with  a  little  grave 
air  of  maternal  self-sacrifice  highly  edifying  to  see  —  but 
you  cannot  have  your  own  way  about  things  like  that;  you 
cannot  live  your  children's  lives  for  them,  etc.,  etc.  Steve's 
verses  and  other  trifles  coming  out  sparsely  in  the  periodi- 
cals —  not  the  most  distinguished  periodicals,  I  fear!  —  they 
greeted  and  circulated  in  a  pleased  flutter,  but  without  too 
much  enthusiasm,  which  they  would  have  considered  foolish, 
if  not  underbred.  Their  attitude,  in  short,  was  admirable, 
a  pattern  for  all  mothers  and  sisters  of  black  sheep;  for 
that  Steven  was  a  black  sheep,  was  what  each  one  of  them 
believed  in  her  secret  heart. 

As  for  Lawson,  his  friends  and  club  companions  noticed 
that  he  began  to  look  older  during  this  time,  to  look  his  full 
age,  that  is ;  heretofore,  strangers,  and  even  old  acquaintances, 
had  uniformly  guessed  him  at  half  a  decade  younger.  It 
was  a  natural  change,  but  not  a  few  put  it  down  to  disap- 
pointment over  that  boy  of  his;  there  was  a  general  under- 
standing that  he  had  had  trouble  with  that  boy.  But  con- 
trary to  the  mother's  experience,  Steve's  father  never  was 
called  upon  for  explanations.  The  gray-headed  brotherhood, 
with  their  keen,  tired  faces,  with  their  shrewd,  practised, 
combative  wits,  with  the  load  of  memories,  regrets,  old  un- 
realized dreams  and  resolute  new  ones,  burned-out  husks  of 
desire  they  every  one  carried,  refrained  with  an  instinctive 
humanity  from  probing  him;  were  there  not  questions  they 
themselves  would  have  winced  to  answer?  Even  when  some 
rumor  of  Steven's  literary  achievements  reached  them  via 
wives  and  daughters,  they  did  not  consider  the  news  likely 
to  cheer  the  senior  Rudd;  from  their  point  of  view,  and  as 
they  guessed  reasonably,  from  Lawson's,  it  did  not  redound 
greatly  to  the  young  man's  credit,  or  promise  much  for  his 
future. 

"  Rudd's  boy  is  writing  poetry,  I  understand,"  Daniel 
Garrard  would  say,  slightingly  —  only  Oom  Dan'l  pro- 
nounced it  "  portry  "  after  the  artless  style  of  his  youth  — 
"  Well,  I'm  not  in  a  position  to  judge;  I  haven't  an  idea  how 
much  they  get  paid,  for  instance.  But  even  supposing  what 
he  wrote  was  good  —  "  said  Mr.  Garrard,  with  an  expression 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  211 

which  would  indicate  that  the  opposite  was  probably  the 
case  — "  even  say  everything  he  WTote  was  good,  and  he 
could  get  it  printed,  it's  a  mighty  uncertain  source  of  income, 
seems  to  me.  Just  put  it  to  yourself  this  way:  you've  got  a 
grown  daughter,  and  one  day  some  young  fellow  that  you 
never  laid  eyes  on  before  comes  into  the  office  and  wants  a 
private  interview.  And  along  towards  the  middle  of  it  you 
find  yourself  obliged  to  say:  'Look  here,  Mr.  Saphead,  I 
want  you  to  understand  that  I  haven't  got  any  prejudice 
against  you  personally,  and  I  should  be  the  last  man  on 
earth  to  stand  in  the  way  of  her  happiness.  But  I've  got  to 
know  more  about  you  before  I  allow  her  to  take  any  such 
decisive  step.  Are  you  sure  you  can  support  her  the  way  I 
have  — the  way  she's  used  to?  Are  you  sure  you  can  sup- 
port her  at  all?  And  if  so,  how?  In  plain  language,  how 
d'ye  make  your  living?  '  And  suppose  he  tells  you:  '  I'm  a 
poet ! '  Now  I  leave  it  to  anybody  at  this  table  —  I  leave 
it  to  any  man  here  what  he'd  say.  Portry!  Huh!  I'm  sorry 
for  Lawson  Rudd!  " 

Had  it  been  another  man's  son,  Lawson  might  not  improb- 
ably have  been  of  the  same  mind  as  Mr.  Garrard,  and 
grinned  with  the  rest  at  the  above  imaginative  effort;  nor, 
for  that  matter,  can  it  be  denied  that  poetry  writing  as  a 
means  of  livelihood  has  an  air  of  unreliability  even  to  the 
followers  of  the  other  arts,  none  of  which  are  conspicu- 
ously reliable.  As  it  was,  however,  the  elder  Rudd  took  his 
son  as  seriously  as  the  latter  could  have  desired;  he  said  in 
the  family  and  to  intimate  friends  that  Steve's  work  ap- 
peared to  him  very  good  — light,  of  course,  but  quite  up  to 
the  standard  of  the  average  magazine;  perhaps  as  he  went 
along  and  his  talent  matured,  he  might  do  very  well.  In 
the  meanwhile  he  was  not  wholly  dependent  on  his  writing, 
he  had  a  position,  a  sheet-anchor  to  windward  —  that  was  a 
sensible  thing  to  do,  in  fact  it  w^as  the  only  sensible  thing  to 
do.  With  which  impartial  statements,  Mr.  Rudd  would  pro- 
ceed to  another  subject.  It  was  an  attitude  that  defied  alike 
criticism  and  sympathy,  as  completely  as  did  his  wife's  and 
Hester's,  not  because  it  was  so  well  assumed,  but  because, 
unlike  theirs,  it  was  essentially  honest. 

For  Lawson  believed  in  his  own  judgment  of  his  son's 


212  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

gifts;  and  he  knew  that  Steven  was  no  black  sheep.  The 
father  could  see  a  wrong-headed  justice  in  the  younger  man's 
view,  and  Steven's  consistency  commanded  a  certain  respect; 
he  had  the  courage  of  his  high-flying  convictions;  he  would 
not  bow  himself  in  the  house  of  Rimmon.  His  unreasonable- 
ness was  exasperating,  yet  there  was  something  admirable 
about  the  spirit  of  it.  Lawson  found  that  what  hurt  him 
most  was  not  Steven's  condemnation  of  David;  hardly  from 
the  most  liberal  and  easy-going  of  moralists  would  that 
ancient  sinner  have  obtained  mercy;  but  his  descendants 
need  not  be  excommunicate,  too.  Steven's  assumption  that 
this  unoffending  second  generation  of  Rudds  should  ''  do 
something  "  to  atone  for  the  long  outlawed  crime,  and  that 
not  having  done  '^  something  "  they  were  co-sinners  with  the 
actual  criminal,  wounded  his  father  to  the  quick.  ''  He  ought 
to  know  better,"  Lawson  thought  with  anger  and  pain.  "  He 
ought  to  realize  —  !  Perhaps  he  will  when  he  gets  a  little 
older.  Elihu  and  I  weren't  pleased  or  proud  ourselves  when 
we  found  out  about  this  miserable  business;  we  didn't  like 
it  or  approve  of  it.  We  simply  couldn't  help  it.  The  thing 
was  done  and  past  mending.  What's  the  matter  with  the 
boy?  He  has  plenty  of  sense.  Why  can't  he  see?  "  A  good 
many  times  a  day,  but  more  often  at  night,  would  he  re- 
hearse the  dreary  argument,  seldom  escaping,  by  the  way,  an 
unwelcome  recollection  of  the  other  recalcitrant  member 
of  the  family,  Eugene.  He  was  a  black  sheep,  if  you  choose 
—  a  drunken  fool.  It  somehow  appeased  Lawson's  con- 
science to  recall  that  Eugene  had  begun  his  drunkenness  and 
folly  a  good  while  before  that  break  over  the  Metaderma 
which  he  thought  himself  too  good  to  sell.  Too  good,  for- 
sooth! They  were  well  rid  of  him,  as  his  subsequent  career 
had  amply  proved ;  and  yet  —  *'  We  were  all  fools,  the 
three  of  us.  There  wasn't  much  to  choose  between  him  and 
El  and  myself!  "  Lawson  sometimes  reflected  with  sour 
mirth,  visioning  again  the  scene  in  the  office,  the  shouting 
and  swearing  and  loss  of  temper  on  all  sides.  ^'  I  don't 
know  what  got  into  us  —  or  what  got  into  me,  at  any  rate. 
The  Metaderma  wasn't  worth  it;  Eugene  was  pretty  nearly 
right.  At  least  there  was  something  to  be  said  for  his  stand- 
point.   If  he  had  only  not  taken  it  quite  the  way  he  did  — 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  213 

and  then  we  all  got  stubborn.  I  wouldn't  act  that  way  now- 
adays. None  of  us  would,  not  even  Eugene,  I  daresay. 
We're  all  twenty  years  older."  The  confusing  thought  arose 
that  he  had  not  acted  "  that  way  "  in  Steven's  case;  he  had 
kept  himself  well  in  hand,  conducted  the  unhappy  affair 
with  all  possible  patience  and  kindness  —  and  the  result  had 
been  precisely  the  same! 

His  mother  and  sister  brought  Steven's  letters  to  the  head 
of  the  house  to  read,  trying  dutifully  to  avoid  the  slightest 
hint  of  their  suspicion  that  the  father  and  son  never  heard 
from  each  other  direct.  It  was  easy  to  see,  the  two  agreed  in 
private,  that  something  had  happened,  but  men  dislike  so  for 
women  to  mix  into  affairs  of  that  sort  —  quarrels,  unpleas- 
antnesses ;  much  more  tactful  to  pretend  ignorance ;  Lawson, 
for  his  part,  played  the  game  conscientiously,  if  in  not  nearly 
so  finished  and  convincing  a  manner;  this  is  a  branch  of 
the  social  arts  wherein  men  cannot  compete  with  the  other 
sex.  "  Well,  this  is  quite  interesting,  what  Steve  says  about 
the  book  trade,"  he  would  remark,  handling  the  letter  with 
a  mighty  effort  to  speak  naturally.  ''  I  see  he's  met  Mr. 
Cook  again,  our  own  Mr.  Cook.  I  remember  Marshall  Cook 
when  he  was  a  clerk  with  the  Utopia  Buggy  Company,  keep- 
ing books,  not  writing  them!  Something  new  for  Mrs. 
Ballard  to  go  into  this  decorating  and  house-furnishing.  And 
Mary  teaching  in  a  girls'  school.  What  next?  I  noticed  the 
Ballards  seemed  to  have  disappeared  somehow  this  last  year 
or  so  —  "  and  so  on,  and  so  on,  fancying  that  all  this  gossip, 
in  which  he  was  never  known  to  indulge  on  any  other  occa- 
sion, diverted  attention  from  his  real  eagerness  for  tidings  of 
Steven,  what  the  young  man  was  doing,  how  he  fared.  It 
was  a  pathetic  bungle,  which  Mrs.  Lawson  witnessed  with 
the  tolerant  contempt  of  an  adept. 

The  Stillman  family,  one  and  all,  were  now  brought  into 
closer  association  than  ever  with  the  Rudds,  by  reason  of 
the  marriage.  To  be  sure,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  George  had  an 
establishment  of  their  own ;  in  the  beginning  they  had  tried 
the  paternal  roof  which  was  wide-spreading  enough,  in  all 
conscience,  to  have  accommodated  any  additional  number 
of  Stillmans,  a  great  stone  erection  with  a  feudal-looking 
square  tower  at  one  corner  of  it,  and  acres  of  park  all  around. 


214  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

But,  big  as  it  was,  there  was  not  room  in  the  same  house  for 
the  two  ladies.  Clara  was  charming;  Hester  was  charming; 
they  were  devoted  to  each  other ;  George  and  his  father  never 
had  a  word;  they  all  led  an  ideal  existence  together  —  in 
spite  of  which  they  presently  decided  to  lead  it  separately! 
The  young  Stillmans  went  off  and  built  a  fascinating  Eliza- 
bethan cottage  of  fifteen  or  twenty  rooms,  where  they  enter- 
tained hosts  of  friends,  not  one  of  whom  ever  met  Clara 
there,  strange  to  relate,  in  view  of  that  mutual  affection 
upon  which  both  Hester  and  she  so  strongly  insisted. 

Stillman  senior  (whom  people  were  now  beginning  to  call 
''old  Stillman  ")  was  a  frequent  visitor;  he  was  fond  of  his 
daughter-in-law  and  petted  her  and  loaded  her  with  presents 
of  a  cost  and  quality  which  seemed  unconscionable  even  to 
her  own  father.  Lawson  sometimes  remonstrated.  "  My 
goodness,  John,  Hester  really  didn't  want  that  thing;  it  was 
only  a  passing  whim,  and  she'll  tire  of  it  before  you  can  turn 
around,"  he  said  at  every  fresh  extravagance.  "  I  believe 
I've  always  been  a  fairly  indulgent  father.  I've  given  her 
everything  she  asked  for,  in  reason,  but  I've  always  drawn 
the  line  somewhere.  You'll  spoil  her,  if  you  keep  on  this 
way." 

"  Oh,  bosh !  Hester's  the  only  young,  pretty  thing  we  have 
around,"  retorted  the  other,  with  the  bravado  of  conscious 
guilt.    ''  Why  shouldn't  I  spoil  her?  " 

"  But  there's  Clara  —  " 

"  Yes.  There's  Clara,"  Mr.  Stillman  assented  dryly. 
*'  It's  a  good  thing  she  didn't  hear  what  I  said  just  now!  " 

They  had  been  asked  to  the  Elizabethan  cottage  for  din- 
ner at  eight  that  evening,  and  were  standing  in  the  drawing- 
room  before  the  painted  and  marble-topped  console  which 
had  brought  forth  Lawson's  most  recent  expostulations.  It 
was  a  museum  piece,  bought  at  a  museum  price,  but  suited 
its  present  setting  well,  for  the  drawing-room  and  indeed 
the  whole  house  were  in  a  daintily  flamboyant  style,  brittle 
and  expensive  as  —  one  might  fancy  —  the  mistress  herself. 
Hester  had  not  come  down  yet,  and  Mr.  Stillman  looked  at 
his  watch.  The  butler  came  in  with  circumspect  tread,  and 
gathered  up  their  empty  cocktail-glasses. 

'^  Isn't  George  home?  "  Lawson  asked. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  215 

"  Yes.  I  brought  him.  Hester  was  using  their  car.  He's 
had  plenty  of  time  to  dress;  I  don't  know  what  can  be  keep- 
ing them/'  said  the  elder  Stillman,  and  he  spoke  to  the 
butler:  "  Where's  Mrs.  Stillman,  Michel?  " 

Michel  paused  with  the  tray.  He  was  a  very  prince  of 
butlers,  skilful,  impassive,  experienced  and  sophisticated  to 
the  point  where,  George  used  to  say,  you  might  let  off  a 
string  of  fire-crackers  without  warning  under  his  ear,  without 
causing  him  to  turn  his  head,  or  spill  a  drop.  But  now 
Michel  actually  hesitated,  at  a  loss;  he  rearranged  the 
glasses  with  motions  betokening  uncertainty.  "  Mrs.  Stillman 
is  —  she  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,  sir  —  that  is — " 

"  She's  not  sick?  " 

"  Oh  no,  Mr.  Rudd.  It's  —  it's  —  "  At  this  point  Michel 
appeared  to  make  up  his  mind  to  resign  all  responsibilities. 
''  It's  the  cat,  sir,"  he  said,  with  calm. 

"  The  cat?  "  cried  out  both  gentlemen. 

"  Yes,  sir.    It's  quite  sick,  sir." 

They  looked  at  each  other.  "  It  must  be  that  big  cat  she's 
had  so  long,"  said  Mr.  Stillman  at  last.  "  What's  the  matter 
with  it?  " 

"  I  really  couldn't  say,  sir.  Mrs.  Stillman  sent  for  the 
veterinarian.  She  sent  Raymond  with  the  car,"  said  Michel, 
his  decorous  imperturbability  now  entirely  restored;  he  lin- 
gered, deferentially  awaiting  further  questions,  and  was 
withdrawing  as  deferentially  when  Lawson  spoke  to  him. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Stillman?  " 

"  She's  down  in  the  laundry  with  the  cat,  sir,  I  think," 
said  Michel,  lingering  yet  another  moment  with  supreme 
good  manners ;  but  they  let  him  go  this  time. 

"  Hester's  always  been  very  fond  of  that  cat  —  if  it's  the 
same  one,''  said  Lawson.    "  It  must  be  pretty  old,  now." 

"  Yes.  I  suppose  that's  what's  the  matter  with  it.  Quite 
a  tragedy." 

They  sauntered  aimlessly  about;  the  house  was  very  quiet, 
save  for  doors  shutting  distantly,  and  a  clock  striking  half 
after  eight. 

''I'm  afraid  it  is  going  to  be  a  tragedy,"  Lawson  said: 
"  though  it's  not  easy  to  kill  off  a  cat.  Nine  lives,  you  know. 
How  d'you  get  to  the  laundry,  John?  " 


216  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  I  think  I  know  the  way.  You  go  through  the  pantry 
somehow  —  " 

They  started  off,  the  apparition  of  their  portly  middle- 
aged  figures,  looking  more  portly  and  middle-aged  somehow 
in  evening-clothes  with  wide  fields  of  shirt-fronts,  creating 
some  commotion  amongst  the  maids  and  dishes.  And  after 
various  adventures  from  which  each  carried  away  a  blurred 
impression  of  carving-knives  and  corkscrews,  of  white  tiled 
surfaces  and  glass  cupboard-doors,  of  smells  of  fish  and 
sauced  entrees,  of  laughter  and  talking  in  the  servants'  din- 
ing-room abruptly  hushed  as  they  passed,  of  blind  leads 
ending  in  dumb-waiters  and  broom-closets,  they  finally 
brought  up  at  the  head  of  a  flight  of  stairs  plunging  down  to 
a  darkness  made  visible  by  one  electric  bulb  at  the  bottom. 
A  man  rushing  up  collided  with  them  on  the  landing.  "  Huh, 
beg  pard'n!"  he  ejaculated  without  looking,  shoved  Mr. 
Stillman  aside,  and  rushed  on.  They  saw  what  looked  like  a 
hypodermic  syringe  in  one  of  his  hands. 

*'  Must  be  the  doctor,"  said  Stillman. 

George  came  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  "  Is  that  you, 
father?  "  he  exclaimed  in  surprise;  and  gave  another  excla- 
mation at  sight  of  Mr.  Rudd.  "  I  didn't  know  it  was  so  late." 
He  turned  his  head,  calling  back:  "Here's  your  father, 
Hester!" 

"Oh,  do  please  make  the  doctor  hurry!"  said  Hester's 
voice,  distractedly. 

She  was  kneeling  on  the  cement  floor  beside  the  prostrate, 
black,  furry  figure  of  the  cat,  inert  on  a  piece  of  carpet ;  rags 
lay  near  at  hand,  the  veterinarian's  satchel  open,  with  steel 
tools  grimly  gleaming  within.  There  were  cold,  soapy,  and 
cellar-like  odors.  Hester,  in  a  featherweight  evening  frock 
with  strings  of  beads  across  her  bare  shoulders,  made  a 
fantastic  picture  as  she  hung  over  her  pet  with  vain  coaxings 
and  endearments. 

"  So  sick,  Dingbats?  Did  the  doctor  give  him  nassy  old 
med'cine?  Never  mind,  Dingbats  get  all  well  now!  Get 
all  well  right  away!  Want  me  to  stroke  your  head?  Poor 
Dingbats!"  ,  , 

Dingbats  raised  his  head  with  difficult  effort  at  the  touch, 
fixing  on  his  mistress  the   brilliant  and  distant  stare  of 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  217 

death.  There  was  something  appallingly  human  in  it,  in  the 
vacancy  of  his  small,  round,  chinless  face;  dying,  all 
creatures  are  alike ;  but  poor  Hester  did  not  know. 

'' There,  he's  purring!  He  tried  to  purr !  He  must  be  bet- 
ter. Don't  you  think  he  looks  a  little  better?  "  she  appealed 
to  the  veterinarian  as  he  came  running  back  with  the  hypo- 
dermic needle  ready.  He  looked  at  the  animal,  and  dropped 
his  hand. 

"  Hold  him  up  on  his  fore-paws,  Mrs.  Stillman,"  he  said, 
kindly ;  "  it'll  be  easier  for  him  —  "  But  as  she  obeyed,  the 
little  body  drooped  together  between  her  hands. 

Even  Hester  understood  then;  she  burst  into  a  genuinely 
agonized  wail.  '' Dingbats,  Dingbats!  Oh,  he's  dying!  Oh, 
doctor,  can't  you  do  something?  Poor  little  Dingbats,  he's 
gone,  he's  gone,  he's  dead!  Oh,  what  shall  I  do,  what  shall 
I  do —  !  "  Her  voice  trailed  off  in  sobs;  she  sank  down  on 
the  laundry-floor,  in  a  huddle  of  lace,  chiffon,  flummery, 
forgetful  of  dress  for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  The  men  stood 
around  awkwardly. 

"  Never  mind,  Hester,  I'll  get  you  another  cat,"  said  her 
father-in-law  in  a  well-meant  attempt  at  consolation;  but 
it  only  provoked  a  new  storm  of  sobs. 

"  I  don't  want  another  cat !  I  don't  want  any  cat  ever 
again!  Poor,  poor  little  Dingbats,  he  was  so  furry  and 
sweet!  "  She  glared  at  the  doctor  vengefully  through  her 
tears.  "  Why  didn't  you  do  something?  There  must  have 
been  something  to  do.  I  don't  believe  you  knew  what  was 
the  matter  with  him  —  I  don't  believe  you  know  anything  at 
all  —  " 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Hester  —  "  Lawson  interposed  hastily, 
glancing  at  the  veterinarian  with  apology ;  but  that  medical 
practitioner  remained  quite  unmoved. 

"  There's  not  much  you  can  do  for  a  cat,"  he  explained 
philosophically,  beginning  to  repack  the  satchel.  *'  Every- 
body feels  bad  to  see  their  pets  die  —  worse  than  they  do 
over  folks  sometimes." 

''  Well,  we  don't  need  to  go  without  our  dinner  anyhow," 
said  George  in  a  harsh  voice,  which  caused  both  the  older 
men  to  eye  him  wonderingly.  He  went  to  Hester  and  lifted 
her  to  her  feet.  "  Come,  Hester,  you  can't  do  anything,  you 
know  —  " 


218  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

''  I  don't  want  any  dinner.  I  couldn't  eat  a  thing.  Go  and 
have  your  old  dinner,  if  that's  all  you  care  about  —  " 

'*  I  guess  we  owe  you  something,  Mr.  —  Doctor  —  Er  —  " 
said  the  elder  Stillman,  hastily,  in  fact,  rather  peremptorily 
urging  the  other  toward  the  stairs,  as  he  felt  in  his  pocket. 
Lawson  followed  them,  leaving  George  still  arguing  not  too 
gently  with  Hester,  and  Hester  still  hysterically  refusing  to 
budge. 

"  I'll  send  a  maid  down  to  her,  hadn't  I  better?  "  her 
father  suggested  feebly ;  and  above  stairs  he  did  hunt  up  one 
of  them  and  despatched  her  to  the  chamber  of  mourning,  be- 
fore himself  sitting  down  to  their  belated  dinner.  George 
moodily  joined  the  two  older  gentlemen,  after  a  while;  and, 
the  meal  over,  moodily  took  himself  off  again. 

"  It's  very  childish  of  Hester  making  so  much  fuss,"  her 
father  said  to  his  old  friend;  Lawson  was  annoyed  and  some- 
how humiliated,  not  able  to  divest  himself  of  a  feeling  of 
responsibility  for  Hester. 

"  Oh,  she  can't  help  it.  One  gets  very  much  attached  to 
a.  pet.  They  develop  very  attractive  little  ways;  and  often 
show  a  surprising  degree  of  intelligence,"  said  old  John, 
not  in  the  least  aware  that  he  was  accurately  describing  the 
cause  and  nature  of  his  own  regard  for  Hester! 

They  smoked  a  cigar  or  two  together ;  and  Lawson  took  his 
way  homewards,  earlier  than  usual,  in  an  obscurely  discon- 
tented mood,  which  he  accounted  for  on  the  theory  that  he 
must  be  lonesome,  although  lonesomeness  was  a  complaint 
from  which  he  had  never  suffered  before,  nor,  to  be  plain, 
would  he  ever  before  have  regarded  the  society  of  his  family 
as  an  antidote  for  it.  But  just  now  he  had  a  sense  of  isola- 
tion which  he  decided  must  be  put  down  to  the  absence  of 
his  wife;  Mrs.  Lawson  was  at  Palm  Beach,  whence  she 
might  be  expected  home  in  another  month,  but  meanwhile 
it  was  gloomy  coming  back  day  after  day  to  his  great  house 
with  nobody  to  welcome  him.  How  scattered  the  family 
was!  How  diverse  their  interests!  The  automobile  came 
to  a  halt  before  his  door,  and  as  he  got  out,  Lawson  was 
struck  by  an  unexpected  stir  within  the  house,  rumors  of 
which  even  penetrated  to  the  street ;  lights  were  going  to  and 
fro  in  some  of  the  unused  rooms;  and  before  he  could  fit 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  219 

his  key  into  the  lock,  one  of  the  servants,  who  as  a  rule  were 
not  too  punctilious  about  their  duties  when  there  was  no  one 
to  wait  on  but  himself,  came  scurrying  and  opened  the  door. 
In  the  hall,  the  spectacle  of  a  mob  of  trunks,  hat-boxes, 
bundles  of  travelling  rugs  and  what-not,  arrested  him;  a 
staid  person,  with  the  air  of  a  housekeeper,  trained  nurse  or 
professional  woman  of  some  sort,  was  standing  over  the 
luggage,  apparently  directing  the  disposal  of  it.  Lawson 
stared  helplessly ;  he  had  never  seen  her  before  in  his  life  and 
here  she  was  giving  orders  in  his  house!  He  wheeled,  ad- 
dressing a  look  of  interrogation  to  the  parlormaid,  who  was 
obviously  in  a  great  state  of  flutter  and  excitement.  "  Mrs. 
Rudd?    Has  she  come  back?  " 

"  No,  sir  —  no,  Mr.  Rudd.  It's  Mrs.  Gherardi.  She  just 
got  here  —  not  half  an  hour  ago.  She  wouldn't  let  us  tele- 
phone you." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  did  not  require  any  great  gift  of  penetration  in  Law- 
son  to  guess  what  had  brought  his  daughter  home  in 
this  abrupt  fashion,  unheralded,  and  without  her  hus- 
band; for  that  matter,  every  servant  in  the  house  had  a 
suspicion,  and  a  tolerably  close  one.  That  there  had  been 
trouble  between  the  Gherardi  pair  could  not  be  doubted ;  as 
to  what  kind  of  trouble  her  family  and  indeed  anybody  that 
knew  Edith  would  wait  her  pleasure  to  hear,  secure  in  the 
conviction  that  she  would  tell  the  truth,  any  sort  of  mystery, 
secrecy  or  pretence  being  utterly  foreign  to  her.  "  We'll  have 
a  talk  to-morrow.  Dad.  It's  too  late  now,"  she  said,  after 
kissing  and  clinging  to  him  with  perhaps  a  shade  more 
warmth  than  usual ;  she  had  never  been  demonstrative.  And 
Lawson,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  had  to  bide  her  time. 

She  was  not  yet  out  of  bed  the  next  morning  when  he  left 
the  house ;  but  her  father  was  not  used  to  the  appearance  of 
his  womenkind  at  the  breakfast-table,  and  her  immediate 
resumption  of  all  the  familiar  ways  pleased  him.  He  liked 
to  think  of  her  upstairs  in  her  own  room  —  a  grave,  gray, 
ascetic  room,  which  it  had  suited  her  to  furnish  with  nun- 
like simplicity,  and  which  had  been  kept  without  change  — 
asleep  under  his  roof ;  once  more  she  was  the  daughter  of  the 
house.  "  Mrs.  Gherardi  is  very  tired.  It's  always  a  hard 
crossing  at  this  time  of  year  —  very  rough.  She's  very  tired 
and  I  don't  want  her  disturbed.  Tell  the  cook  to  be  sure  and 
have  everything  on  the  tray  nice  and  hot,  and  —  and  the 
way  she  likes  it  —  er  —  muffins  and  things  —  when  they 
send  her  breakfast  up,"  he  said  a  little  fussily  to  the  butler, 
as  he  was  leaving. 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Mrs.  Gherardi  left  orders  last  night, 
sir,"  said  the  man,  without  moving  a  muscle  of  his  well- 
trained  countenance.  Lawson  was  divided  between  vexation 
and  amusement.    He  might  have  spared  his  pains;  of  course 

220 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  221 

she  had  left  orders.  Trust  Edith!  She  never  forgot  any- 
thing, and  always  knew  exactly  what  she  wanted.  For  the 
first  time  in  weeks  he  went  to  the  office  in  good  spirits;  and 
all  through  the  day,  opening  the  mail,  dictating  to  Miss 
Parker,  holding  council  with  his  managers,  going  out  to 
luncheon  and  playing  a  game  of  billiards,  and  coming  back 
and  starting  to  work  again  with  all  steam  up  —  all  through 
his  day,  the  thought  of  Edith  at  home  warmed  his  heart. 

It  had  seemed  to  him,  after  that  one  brief  glimpse  of  her 
the  night  before,  that  she  looked  pale,  even  a  little  worn;  but 
if  so,  it  must  have  been  merely  the  natural  fatigue  of  a  long 
and  trying  journey,  for  in  the  drawing-room  that  evening,  it 
was  the  same  Edith  as  of  old  who  came  to  meet  him  with 
her  head  up,  her  springy  step,  her  daring  assumption  of 
beauty  that  vanquished  adverse  judgment.  Had  there  been 
a  dozen  Helens  or  Cleopatras  in  the  room,  everybody  would 
still  have  turned  around  to  look  at  Edith,  the  father  thought 
with  fond  pride.  Lean  and  long  in  a  black-blue  dress,  the 
pailletted  corsage  flashing  and  flexible  as  a  shirt  of  mail, 
with  a  slender  circlet  of  gold  around  her  straight  white  tem- 
ples ending  in  a  crest  of  defiant  feathers  sprayed  with  bril- 
liants, she  was  a  Valkyrie  —  a  Valkyrie  from  the  Rue  de  la 
Paix.  with  a  flame-colored  ostrich  fan  instead  of  a  spear! 

''  By  George,  Edith,  you  look  stunning!  "  her  father  said 
in  boyish  admiration.  '^  That  paint-brush  thing  on  your 
head  is  quite  regal." 

She  named  the  celebrated  French  man-milliner  from  whose 
atelier  the  whole  confection  had  come,  with  a  laugh.  "  He 
says  he  likes  to  design  for  me;  and  he  says,  moreover,  that 
I  am  the  only  woman  whose  own  designs  he  has  ever  con- 
sented to  carry  out.  ^  Madame  connait  si  bien  son  genre! ' 
That's  a  tremendous  compliment  —  if  he  doesn't  tell  every- 
body the  same  thing!  "  She  turned  with  a  slight  gesture. 
''  This  is  my  friend,  Miss  Stannifer,  Dad." 

Hereupon  there  rose  up  from  one  of  the  brocaded  drawing- 
room  chairs  a  short,  spare,  firm-featured  lady,  about  forty- 
five  years  old,  in  a  sedate  evening  toilette  of  black  crepe  de 
chine,  with  a  black  velvet  band  around  her  spare  throat 
whereon  shone,  also  in  an  extraordinarily  sedate  manner,  a 
small  diamond  star  —  it  shone,  nobody  could  have  said  it 


222  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

sparkled.  Lawson  recognized  the  baggage-master  of  last 
night. 

"  Miss  Stannifer  used  to  be  secretary  and  governess  for 
the  Grafin  von  Falkenberg  —  Alice  Hilliard,  you  remember, 
Dad?  Then  she  came  to  me,"  said  Edith,  as  if  this  informa- 
tion would  instantly  clear  up  the  question  of  Miss  Stanni- 
fer's  status,  supposing  it  needed  clearing  up;  and  in  fact, 
Lawson  received  a  measure  of  enlightenment,  though  he 
wondered  mightily  within  him  that  Edith  should  have  found 
it  necessary  to  employ  either  a  secretary  or  governess.  Miss 
Stannifer,  for  her  part,  appeared  to  take  this  species  of  card- 
index  introduction  as  a  matter  of  course.  She  bowed 
calmly. 

"  Alice  Hilliard?  Oh,  yes.  I  knew  her  father  very  well," 
said  Lawson,  explanatorily.  "  Rather  lost  sight  of  Alice 
lately,  of  course.  She  must  have  been  over  there  for  fifteen 
years.    Isn't  she  a  good  deal  older  than  you,  Edith?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  She  was  one  of  Clara  Stillman's  set  of  girls. 
They  all  came  out  the  year  of  the  Spanish  War  —  " 

"  Sh-h !  "  said  Lawson  in  tones  of  mock  horror,  at  which  a 
reserved  smile  appeared  on  Miss  Stannifer's  somewhat  im- 
mobile visage, 

"  We've  seen  a  good  deal  of  each  other,  though,"  Edith 
said,  waving  the  flame-colored  fan.  ''  Her  girls  are  very 
sweet  —  and  quite  like  American  girls.  They'd  had  Miss 
Stannifer  for  ages." 

^'  Madame  von  Falkenberg  was  anxious  for  her  daughters 
to  speak  English  —  her  native  tongue,  that  is,"  said  the  ex- 
governess,  in  a  clear  and  sharply-defined  utterance,  like  the 
striking  of  a  clock.  One  scarcely  needed  to  be  told  that  she 
herself  was  English. 

"  They  wanted  me  to  teach  them  Americanese  —  our 
slang,  you  know,"  Edith  said,  and  laughed  again. 

There  was  a  short  silence ;  nothing,  apparently,  remained  to 
be  said  about  the  von  Falkenbergs;  but,  by  a  happy  chance, 
dinner  was  announced,  rescuing  the  company  from  a  discus- 
sion of  the  weather.  In  past  years,  Mr.  Rudd  had  been 
accustomed  to  the  presence  of  a  governess  about  the  house ; 
his  own  girls  had  always  had  one,  generally  some  black- 
browed  young  French  woman,  whose  speed  and  accuracy  in 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  223 

the  use  of  her  own  language  moved  him  to  respectful  sur- 
prise. It  was  incredible  that  anybody  should  speak  French 
that  well!  Sometimes  she  would  bring  the  children  to 
breakfast  with  him,  but  she  never  appeared  at  dinner.  Miss 
Stannifer,  however,  had  the  air  of  being  perfectly  habitu- 
ated to  handsome  dinners  in  a  handsome  house;  she  was  a 
gentlewoman  —  an  English  gentlewoman,  not  entirely  free 
from  the  naive  insular  superiority. 

"  Those  are  hominy  croquettes  around  the  guinea-hen 
fillet  —  a  specialty  of  ours.  I  think  you'll  find  them  very 
nice,"  Lawson  said  in  his  quality  of  host,  observing  her  to 
look  a  little  askant  at  the  dish.  But  at  these  words,  she 
adjusted  a  pair  of  gold  pince-nez,  and  examined  the  hominy 
croquettes  attentively. 

"  Ah,  I  see.  One  of  your  queer  American  dishes.  I  sup- 
pose one  gets  used  to  them,  in  spite  of  the  way  they  look. 
Thank  you,  I  don't  think  I  want  any  of  it,"  she  said,  in  her 
distinct  speech,  waving  it  aside;  and  went  on  eating  the  rest 
of  her  dinner  — ''  Just  as  if  she  had  paid  us  a  pretty  compli- 
ment, by  George!  "  Lawson  said,  describing  the  incident  to 
his  luncheon-club  with  chuckles.  He  did  not  fail  to  add, 
however,  that  Miss  Stannifer's  manners  were  fundamentally 
those  of  a  person  of  good  sense  and  good  breeding,  and  more- 
over displayed  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  world.  "  I 
don't  quite  know  how  she  managed  it,  but  the  minute  Edith 
and  I  felt  ready  for  a  little  family  talk  —  private  affairs,  you 
know,  things  nobody  cares  to  discuss  before  strangers  —  the 
minute  we  were  ready.  Miss  Stannifer  somehow  disappeared ! 
Nothing  marked  about  it,  either;  no  excuses,  no  awkward- 
ness, no  stealthy  creeping  off.  She  simply  wasn't  in  the 
room!  "  he  said,  not  without  enthusiasm.  "I  never  knew 
anything  to  be  better  done." 

The  minute  he  referred  to  came  not  long  after  dinner, 
while  they  were  sitting  over  the  tray  of  coffee  and  liqueurs 
in  the  drawing-room.  All  during  dinner  there  had  been  an 
interchange  of  questions  and  answers  about  old  friends  — 
who  w-as  married,  who  was  dead,  what  had  happened  in  the 
four  years  or  more  of  Edith's  absence.  And  now  she  said: 
"  I  heard  from  somebody  that  Eleanor  Maranda  —  Eleanor 
Loring  —  was  going  to  get  a  divorce  from  that  Loring  man, 
or  else  that  she  had  gotten  it,  I  can't  remember  which." 


224  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  Yes,  I  believe  she  did.  Of  course  they  kept  it  very 
quiet.  That  can  be  done,  you  know.  No  need  for  publicity 
or  talk." 

This  piece  of  indirect  counsel,  like  many  other  calculated 
kindnesses,  went  calamitously  wide  of  the  mark.  Edith 
gave  her  father  a  straight  look,  momentarily  setting  her 
straight  lips.  "  I  don't  see  why  there  should  be  any  effort  to 
keep  such  a  thing  quiet,"  she  said;  and  after  an  instant, 
added  deliberately:  ''  I  daresay  you  know  that  is  why  I  have 
come  back  home  this  way,  father.    To  get  a  divorce." 

''I  —  I  was  afraid  so,"  he  admitted.  "  I  have  been  afraid 
for  some  time  that  —  that  things  were  not  going  well."  Law- 
son  had  never  liked  his  alien  son-in-law,  never  entirely 
trusted  him,  but  a  sense  of  justice,  the  desire  to  do  his  whole 
duty,  to  observe  those  time-honored  doctrines  of  patience 
and  moderation  in  which  he  had  laboriously  schooled  him- 
self, impelled  him  to  add  earnestly:  "I  hope  you  haven't 
acted  too  hastily.  But  if  you  begin  to  feel  that  you  have, 
don't  be  stiff-necked  about  it,  Edith.  Don't  let  your  pride 
stand  in  the  way  of  a  reconciliation.  Young  people  —  and 
old  ones,  too !  —  often  have  misunderstandings,  and  between 
two  people  who  really  care  a  great  deal  for  each  other,  a 
misunderstanding  is  the  bitterest  thing  on  earth.    Now  —  " 

Edith  did  not  interrupt  him;  one  of  her  gifts,  sufficiently 
rare  in  a  woman,  was  that  of  never  interrupting.  Be  the 
matter  great  or  small,  the  speaker  wise  or  foolish,  Edith 
invariably  heard  all  out  with  the  strictest  attention.  So 
now  she  did  not  interrupt  her  father;  with  her  cool,  light 
eyes  fixed  on  him,  she  moved  her  fan;  ceased  moving;  re- 
sumed. Lawson  all  at  once  felt  his  words  and  the  thought 
behind  them  to  be  running  out,  so  to  speak,  as  a  river  might 
lose  itself  in  sand.  He  halted,  and  after  a  proper  interval, 
she  answered  him. 

"  I  know  you  think  it  right  to  give  me  that  sort  of  advice. 
It  is  right.  But  I  have  made  up  my  mind.  I  have  thought 
of  everything.    You  know  I  generally  do." 

"  Yes,  you  do!  "  her  father  said.  "  Only  this  is  —  Have 
you  seen  an  attorney?  " 

"  No,  not  yet." 

"Well  —  er  —  can  you  get  a  divorce  on  this  side?  With 
your  husband  over  there  in  Germany?  " 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  225 

"  I  don't  know  as  yet.    That's  a  mere  detail,  however." 

A  mere  detail!  Well,  perhaps  it  was,  her  father  said  to 
himself,  in  comparison  with  the  central  fact  of  Edith's  de- 
termination; she  was  the  embodiment  of  cold  purpose.  "  Er 
—  ah  —  it  will  be  incompatibility,  I  suppose?  "  he  hazarded. 
She  couldn't  very  well  allege  desertion  or  non-support! 

''  No.     Statutory  grounds,"  said  Edith.    The  fan  waved. 

Lawson  turned  very  red;  his  generation  never  mentioned 
anything  so  ugly  in  a  mixed  company ;  women  were  not  even 
supposed  to  know  what  this  particular  phrase  meant.  He 
had  to  remind  himself  that  Edith  belonged  to  what  was  prac- 
tically a  new  race;  other  times,  other  manners;  and  it  might 
be  that  the  fashion  of  calling  a  spade  a  spade  made  for 
decency  in  the  long  run  more  definitely  than  calling  it  an 
agricultural  implement,  or  pretending  that  there  was  no  such 
thing  at  all.  Following  up  this  reasoning,  his  next  question 
came  logically,  nevertheless  he  stammered  and  hesitated. 
''You  —  er  —  I  —  there  can't  be  any  doubt?  You  —  you 
have  —  the  charges  can  be  proved,  in  short?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly.  I  wouldn't  make  a  charge  that  I  couldn't 
prove.    I  found  him.    I  found  them  together." 

Her  father  sat  an  instant  benumbed.  "  You  —  you  found 
them  together?  "  he  literally  gasped.  "  You  found  them  — 
you  yourself?  " 

"  Yes.  The  girl  happened  to  be  one  of  the  maids.  Frieda 
Schuler;  from  Bremen,  I  believe.  A  very  handsome  young 
woman,"  said  Edith,  with  complete  detachment.  ''  I  had 
engaged  her  only  about  six  weeks  before,  so  she  had  not 
been  in  the  house  very  long.  Of  course  I  don't  know  how 
long  it  had  been  going  on  —  between  Rudolph  and  her." 

''  You  mean  to  say  this  —  this  thing  occurred  in  your  own 
house?  "  her  father  articulated  wdth  diflSculty. 

"  Yes." 

Lawson  Rudd  stood  up,  trembling  all  over;  his  strong, 
ageing  face  turned  gray ;  between  his  set  teeth  he  ground  out 
an  appalling  curse.  Not  in  years,  not  in  his  whole  life  had 
he  known  such  a  surge  of  anger;  it  was  not  merely  that 
generations  of  clean-living  ancestors  revolted  within  him; 
a  primordial  instinct  went  storming  through  his  blood.  Of 
the  pair,  Edith  was  the  composed  one!     She  gazed  at  her 


226  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

father  a  little  apprehensively,  and  spoke  part  in  soothing, 
part  in  remonstrance. 

"Why,  father!  Why,  father!  Don't  look  so!  Don't  feel 
so!    It's  all  over  now." 

He  dropped  back,  a  good  deal  shaken,  controlling  himself 
with  a  severe  effort.  "I  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  Edith.  I  — 
1  forgot  myself.    I  said  something  —  I  beg  your  pardon!  " 

''  Never  mind.  I  knew  you'd  be  angry.  Maybe  I  wouldn't 
have  liked  it  if  you  hadn't  been  angry;  though,  of  course, 
it's  not  really  worth  while,"  Edith  said;  and  she  repeated: 
"  The  whole  thing  is  over  now." 

She  spoke  with  no  slightest  trace  of  feeling.  It  was  all 
over,  Lawson  thought,  looking  at  her;  Edith's  youth  was  all 
over;  some  zest  of  life  that  had  been  within  her  was  done 
away  with,  cut  out  and  the  wound  cauterized.  There  was 
nothing  left  but  a  husk  of  passionless  flesh,  a  chilled-steel  tool 
of  intelligence.  And  she  was  not  yet  twenty-seven  years  old. 
After  a  while,  she  said:  "  Shall  I  tell  you  about  it,  Dad?  " 

"  If  you  choose,"  said  Lawson.  ''  If  it  isn't  —  "  If  it 
isn't  too  painful,  he  was  about  to  say,  but  stopped.  It  did 
not  seem  as  if  anything  would  ever  pain  Edith  again.  She 
made  a  little  gesture  with  the  fan,  as  if  to  put  aside  his 
concern,  began  to  speak  and  went  on  speaking  with  an  im- 
personal composure  which  was  manifestly  genuine ;  there  was 
no  hint  of  bravado,  of  emotions  melodramatically  held  in 
check  about  it.  Her  main,  indeed,  her  whole  anxiety  seemed 
to  be  to  lay  the  facts  before  him  clearly  and  in  their  proper 
sequence. 

"  Of  course  I  knew  before  —  I  had  known  for  a  good 
while  that  Rudolph  was  —  was  not  like  an  American  hus- 
band. There  was  always  something  of  the  sort  going  on.  But 
this  time  I  didn't  suspect.  A  servant-girl,  you  know.  One 
doesn't  think  of  them  in  that  connection,  somehow.  I  found 
out  by  the  merest  accident  —  the  sort  of  accident  that  hap- 
pens on  the  stage.    Everything  about  it  was  utterly  banal. 

"  We  had  been  asked  to  a  musicale.  Rudolph  came  home 
earlier  than  usual,  and  wouldn't  eat  any  dinner;  said  he  had 
a  furious  headache  and  would  have  to  chuck  the  party  and 
get  to  bed,  but  I  must  go  by  all  means  —  to  be  seen  in  the 
best  houses,  in  the  right  circle,  was  always  so  important  for 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  227 

people  in  our  position.    It  was  as  commonplace  as  that;  the 
oldest  trick  in  the  world  — only  it  is  generally  the  wife 
getting  the  husband  out  of  the  way!     In  the  meanwhile 
Alice  von  Falkenberg  had  telephoned  that  she  would  stop 
and  pick  us  up;  Count  von  Falkenberg  had  some  kind  of 
business  —  he's  in  the  Foreign  Office,  and  all  the  diplomatic 
service  seem  to  be  very  busy  just  now  —  and  she  would  have 
to  fetch  him  home  later,  but  she  didn't  want  to  go  by  herself. 
I  was  glad  afterwards  that  everything  happened  just  in  this 
way.    Alice  came  for  me.    On  the  way  she  got  to  talking 
about  her  governess,  this  same  Miss  Stannifer.     She  said 
Hilda  and  Janet  didn't  need  her  any  more ;  they  are  almost 
grown,  and  are  going  away  to  school  in  Geneva.    Miss  Stan- 
nifer had  been  with  them  over  ten  years,  and  Alice  felt 
rather  badly  about  her  going,  but  at  the  same  time  didn't 
feel  justified  in  keeping  her  on,  and  Miss  Stannifer  herself 
has  a  good  deal  of  spirit,  and  w^ould  not  want  to  stay  any- 
where without  a  well-defined  place  and  duties  that  balanced 
her  salary.    She  wouldn't  be  contented  as  a  figurehead,  or 
pensioned  off;  she  wants  to  work.    Alice  told  me  she  had 
even  taken  up  stenography  this  last  year,  with  the  idea  of 
fitting  herself  for  another  kind  of  position,  though  her  eye- 
sight isn't  very  good;  she's  not  young,  you  know.    The  whole 
thing  seemed  pathetic ;  Miss  Stannifer  is  a  lady  —  a  clerg\^- 
man's  daughter,  very  well  connected  —  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
It  means  so  much  over  there.    Everybody  that  goes  to  Alice's 
house  knows  Miss  Stannifer.    It  was  a  good  deal  on  Alice's 
mind ;  she  kept  talking  about  her  —  suggested  that  I  might 
take  her  for  a  companion.    At  the  time,  of  course,  I  was  a 
little  bored ;  but  afterwards  I  thought  how  fortunate  it  was. 
Don't  you  want  to  smoke,  Dad?    You  always  used  to  smoke 
after  dinner." 

Lawson  took  a  cigar,  with  some  idea  of  humoring  her, 
though  conscious  all  the  while  that  Edith  was  the  last  woman 
in  the  universe  to  demand  humoring.  He  was  wondering 
inwardly  what  Miss  Stannifer  had  to  do  with  the  matter, 
and  where  all  this  talk  about  her  would  lead;  but  that  it 
would  lead  somewhere,  and  was  vital  to  the  story,  nobody 
that  knew  Edith  would  doubt. 

She  went  on.     They  had  gone  to  the  von  der  Schacht 


228  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

musicale,  but  came  away  early,  before  midnight;  they  were 
the  first  to  leave,  Madame  von  Falkenberg's  call  for  her 
husband  necessitating  it.  He  bore  some  official  title  which 
Lawson  could  not  understand,  though  Edith  reeled  off  the 
intricate  German  syllables  glibly,  having,  for  her  part,  ac- 
quired considerable  facility  in  the  language  during  these 
years  of  residence.  Her  friend  set  her  down  at  her  own  door, 
at  something  past  twelve;  she  let  herself  in  and  went 
upstairs. 

"  They  were  not  expecting  me  back  so  soon.  And  besides 
they  had  had  champagne.  It  made  them  reckless,"  she  said, 
her  fan  swaying  gently  to  and  fro. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Lawson's  cigar  had  gone  out; 
he  discovered  on  mechanically  attempting  to  smoke  that  he 
had  crushed  it  well-nigh  to  powder  in  his  clenched  fist. 

''  Very^disgusting,  all  of  it!  "  said  Edith,  in  her  cool  voice. 

Her  father  struggled  unsuccessfully  to  imitate  the  same 
coolness,  as  he  asked:  "  Well?    What  did  you  do?  " 

"  I  went  away  and  left  them.  I  went  to  my  own  rooms. 
I  sat  down  and  thought  for  a  little.  Then  I  rang  my  bell 
and  after  a  while  —  for  all  the  rest  of  the  servants  were 
asleep  or  gadding  about  somewhere,  or  had  perhaps  been  paid 
to  leave  the  house  —  after  a  while  one  of  them  came.  It  was 
not  my  own  maid,  but  a  sort  of  kitchen  helper,  a  Bavarian 
peasant-girl,  smelling  terrifically  of  potato-peelings  and  dish- 
water. I  don't  suppose  I  had  ever  spoken  to  her  before,  or 
even  seen  her  very  close.  The  poor  thing  herself  was  rather 
frightened,  and  kept  curtsying  and  apologizing.  Really, 
though,  she  suited  better  for  what  I  wanted  than  my  own 
maid.  I  had  her  make  up  a  bed  for  herself  in  my  dressing- 
room.  '  You  must  sleep  here  to-night,'  I  told  her.  '  In  the 
morning  early,  we  will  get  up  and  pack  some  trunks.'  " 
Edith  paused  reflectively.  "  They  are  perfectly  astonishing, 
those  people.  They  obey  like  sheep.  Fancy  my  giving  such 
an  order  to  any  servant  over  here !  She  would  have  tried  to 
worm  some  explanation  out  of  me,  or  else  would  have  pre- 
tended to  do  what  I  said,  and  then  slipped  off  and  sent  for 
help  to  the  nearest  lunatic  asylum.  But  this  one  never  asked 
a  question,  or  said  a  word;  she  did  exactly  what  I  told  her  to, 
even  to  going  to  sleep  on  her  pallet  on  the  floor ! 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  229 

"  In  the  morning  we  got  up  and  packed  everything,  and  I 
sent  for  a  cab  to  take  us  to  —  " 

"  A  cab?    What  had  become  of  your  own  machine?  " 

''  It  was  reported  to  be  out  of  order  at  that  precise  mo- 
ment," Edith  said  tranquilly.  ''  I  suppose  orders  had  been 
given  to  interfere  with  my  going  or  to  embarrass  me  as 
much  as  possible.     However,  I  went." 

She  had  gone  to  a  hotel,  the  largest  and  best-known  in  the 
city,  with  her  peasant  hand-maiden,  engaged  a  suite  of 
rooms,  and  telephoned  to  Miss  Stannifer.  The  latter,  who 
had  already  left  the  von  Falkenbergs  and  was  en  pension 
in  a  humble  quarter,  came  at  once.  "  She  has  never  left 
me  since,  day  or  night,"  Edith  said. 

^'  I  suppose,  of  course,  you  explained  the  situation  fully 
to  her?  "  said  Lawson,  still  in  a  fog  about  the  necessity  for 
Miss  Stannifer. 

''Oh,  yes,  she  knows  all  about  it.  After  she  came,  I  sent 
back  the  poor  Bavarian.  She  went  just  as  submissively  and 
unquestioningly  as  she  had  come.  They  are  certainly  ex- 
traordinarv!  "  Edith  reiterated. 

"  Well,  then  what  did  you  do?  " 

"  Nothing  except  see  about  steamer  reservations.  I  did 
think  at  one  time  of  going  to  our  Ambassador;  they  had 
always  been  as  nice  as  possible  to  me,  and  I  had  some  idea 
of  getting  advice  from  a  man.  But,  on  second  thoughts,  it 
seemed  better  not.  He  is  there  for  public  affairs,  not  private; 
and  I  didn't  want  to  do  anything  that  could  bring  in  the 
name  of  any  official  from  this  country.  I  might  have  put 
him  into  an  unpleasant  or  difficult  position,  some  way.  So  I 
never  went  near  the  Embassy.  All  of  them  called,  though. 
Alice  came  to  see  me,  of  course.    And  Rudolph  came." 

''He  did?" 

''  Yes.  I  didn't  see  him.  Oh  yes,  he  came  again  and  again, 
and  his  father  and  mother  — all  the  family.  They  were 
quite  wild  —  in  a  dreadful  state  of  mind.  Not  because  of 
me,  you  know."  A  wraith  of  a  smile  passed  across  Edith's 
features  to  see  her  father  sit  dumf ounded  at  this  information. 
"  Oh,  not  about  me  at  all !  They  were  worried  over  Rudolph. 
They  were  afraid  his  career  would  be  ruined  forever.  It  is 
ruined,"  said  Edith  without  venom,  simply  as  a  statement  of 
fact. 


230  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

This,  which  she  appeared  to  consider  amply  explanatory, 
only  served  to  puzzle  her  father  still  more.  "  Well,  Edith," 
he  said  at  last;  "  if  his  career  professionally  or  financially  or 
any  other  way  has  all  gone  to  pieces,  I  am  vindictive  enough 
to  be  heartily  glad  of  it.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that's  not 
what  usually  happens,  in  these  cases.    You  know  the  world 

—  you  know  what  its  judgments  are  likely  to  be  about  the 
man  and  the  woman  that  —  that  go  wrong  this  way.  The 
man  always  gets  ofT  the  easier  of  the  couple.  Monstrously 
unfair,  but  that's  what  happens.  It  wouldn't  exactly  ruin 
a  man  over  here,  unless  —  well,  it  wouldn't  ruin  him,  gener- 
ally speaking.  I've  always  supposed  that  over  there  they 
were  much  more  lenient  than  we  are." 

'^  It  all  depends,"  said  Edith,  impartially.  "  In  one  way 
they  are  distressingly  rigid.  Rudolph  could  have  carried  on 
an  intrigue  with  a  brother-officer's  wife,  or  with  some  woman 
of  title,  or  even  with  a  figurante  in  the  Imperial  Ballet,  or  a 
celebrated  demi-mondaine  —  provided  she  were  celebrated 
enough !  —  and  nobody  would  have  said  anything.  But  a 
chambermaid!  Oh,  impossible!  Low!  Vulgar!  Stupid! 
He'd  be  dropped  from  all  the  clubs,  everybody  would  cut 
him  dead  on  the  streets;  and,  pour  comble,  when  it  got  to  the 
ear  of  the  All-Highest,  Captain  Gherardi  would  presently 
receive  an  official  intimation  not  at  all  delicately  or  indi- 
rectly worded  that  his  military  services  were  no  longer 
required  by  his  chief  or  his  country.  That's  what  they 
meant  by  my  ruining  his  career." 

"  Your  ruining  it,  hey?    Seems  to  me  he  did  it  himself." 

"  Yes,  but  they  wanted  me  to  overlook  it,  to  keep  quiet 
about  it,  and  go  on  living  with  him,  you  know." 

'^  Huh !  "  said  Lawson,  in  a  snarl. 

"  Oh  yes,  they  were  all  very  tragic,"  said  Edith,  moving 
the  fan  steadily.  "  His  mother  came  to  see  me,  and  made  a 
terrible  outcry." 

"  I  don't  see  what  she  could  find  to  say,"  said  Lawson, 
bafl^ed. 

"  Well,  my  mama-in-law  —  she's  very  stout  and  high- 
colored  and  dresses  in  black  silk  with  lots  of  passementerie 

—  started  out  by  reasoning  with  me.  She  told  me  I  was  very 
young,  and  didn't  know  anything  about  men,  having  been 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  231 

brought  up  with  such  crude  American  ideas.  Men  —  mar- 
ried ones  and  all  —  must  have  diversions  and  variety.  It 
was  the  part  of  a  good  wife  to  shut  her  eyes  to  certain  things. 
Everybody  had  had  some  such  experience  as  mine.  Even 
Rudy's  papa  —  !  I  said  I  quite  understood  about  Rudy's 
papa.  We  were  sitting  opposite  a  mirror  just  as  you  and  I 
are  now." 

Lawson's  eyes  travelled  involuntarily  to  the  glass  whence 
his  daughter's  reflection  returned  the  gaze  superbly.  He  had 
enough  imagination  to  visualize  the  scene,  the  little,  fat, 
excited  German  hausfrau,  red-faced,  tearful,  middle-aged, 
dowdy,  a  caricature;  and  Edith,  ineffably  cool  and  exqui- 
site, assuring  her  that  she  "  quite  understood  about  Rudy's 
papa!  " 

"  She  went  almost  into  hysterics,  and  I  think  she  would 
have  scratched  me,  if  Miss  Stannifer  hadn't  been  there.  It 
was  a  very  coarse  exhibition,"  said  Edith.  ^' So  strange! 
They  had  all  shown  good  enough  manners  before,  neverthe- 
less I  had  had  a  notion  that  down  underneath  they  were  — 
well,  rough,  you  know,  violent  —  er  —  common,  as  Mother 
says.  And  sure  enough,  they  were,  only  worse  than  I  could 
have  imagined!  After  that,  Rudolph's  father  came.  I  was 
expecting  a  visit  from  him,  too,  of  course;  they  seemed  to 
think  that  it  would  make  more  impression  on  me  if  they 
came  one  after  another  all  day  long,  instead  of  all  at  once. 
It  was  very  tiresome.  The  first  thing  Herr  Gherardi  did  was 
to  order  Miss  Stannifer  out  of  the  room  —  or  to  order  me 
to  order  her.  I  said,  very  well,  and  she  went  out.  Then  he 
began  in  that  loud,  blustering,  overbearing  way  they  have, 
as  if  by  bawling  and  lots  of  words  they  could  put  you  in  the 
wrong.  He  told  me  that  I  was  a  foolish,  selfish,  short- 
sighted, high -tempered  young  woman.  I  must  behave  my- 
self; what  did  I  me^n  by  this  outrageous  conduct?  I  would 
have  to  be  taught  a  lesson;  I  would  not  be  allowed  to  carry 
this  any  farther,  and  so  on.  I  did  not  say  anything ;  there 
was  no  use,  you  know.  I  sat  and  listened,  and  looked  at  him. 
After  a  while  he  stopped  of  his  own  accord." 

Lawson  thought  he  knew  why  the  other  father  had  stopped 
"  of  his  own  accord,"  under  that  steely  and  measuring  eye. 
For  the  first  time  during  this  sorry  recital,  he  felt  a  desire 


232  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

to  laugh.  He'd  like  to  see  anybody  bluff  Edith!  "Well, 
what  did  you  say  to  him?  " 

"I  said:  *A  little  less  noise,  Herr  Gherardi,  if  you 
please!'"  said  David  Rudd's  granddaughter;  and  a  certain 
likeness  to  that  flint-hard  old  worthy,  flitted  across  her  face, 
startling  her  father  not  a  little.  ''  That  seemed  to  take  him 
aback,  somehow.  He  hesitated  and  sputtered  for  a  minute. 
Then  he  went  ahead  on  another  tack,  quite  fatherly  this 
time.  He  said  in  a  grave,  warning,  significant  way  that  I 
must  remember  what  my  own  conduct  in  the  past  had  been; 
that  I  was  in  no  position  to  criticize  my  husband  for  this 
sort  of  imprudence,  or  to  assume  superiority  —  " 

'^  What?  He  said  —  ?  "  shouted  Lawson,  half-rising, 
gripping  the  arms  of  his  chair.  "  He  deliberately 
hinted—?" 

"  Father! "  said  Edith,  as  before.  "■  Do,  please  —  !  What 
is  the  use?  " 

He  commanded  himself  once  more.  "  To  be  sure !  But 
what  next?    What  was  the  next  step  in  the  persecution?  " 

"  Oh,  he  kept  on  in  that  paternal-advice  style  for  some 
time.  I  didn't  say  anything.  Finally  he  stopped ;  I  think  he 
was  more  or  less  flustered  by  my  simply  sitting  listening  and 
watching  him.  I  suppose  he  had  expected  me  to  get  angry 
or  frightened,"  said  Edith,  speculatively.  "  I  didn't.  And 
that  must  have  upset  his  calculations.  When  he  stopped  I 
asked  him  to  please  be  more  specific  about  when  and  where 
and  with  whom  I  had  erred  as  a  wife  in  the  same  way  that 
Rudolph  had  as  a  husband ;  I  said  I  should  like  to  know.  He 
wasn't  ready  for  that,  either,  and  fumbled  around  a  good 
deal,  and  at  last  wanted  to  know  where  I  had  been  myself 
the  night  I  had  come  home  and  alleged  that  I  had  found 
Rudolph.  I  said  a  person  so  well  informed  as  he  professed 
to  be  ought  to  know  already;  but  that  I  had  no  doubt  the 
Countess  von  Falkenberg  would  be  glad  to  tell  him.  He'd 
forgotten  about  that.  Oh,  they  are  so  dull!  Their  lies  are 
the  most  childish  things  imaginable  —  it's  an  insult  to  one's 
intelligence  to  be  expected  to  believe  such  stuff.  Then  he 
fumbled  around  some  more,  and  said  it  was  very  suspicious 
my  leaving  my  husband's  roof,  and  going  off  to  a  hotel  by 
myself.    I  said  that  I  had  literally  not  been  *  by  myself ' 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  233 

without  a  woman  companion  for  one  single  instant  since  that 
night,  and  that  I  would  not  have  the  slightest  difficulty  in 
proving  it  to  him  or  anybody." 

Enlightenment  flooded  her  father's  mind.  "  Oh! "  he 
ejaculated. 

''  He  knew  that  to  be  the  truth.  For  that  matter  he  knew 
all  along  that  personally  I  was  absolutely  unassailable;  he 
just  thought  he  could  bully  me.  When  he  found  that  he 
couldn't  he  rather  went  to  pieces  —  lost  control  of  himself, 
and  blurted  out  that  it  was  easy  to  manufacture  proofs; 
that  two  could  play  at  that  game;  that  I  had  plenty  of  my 
dirty  American  dollars  to  bribe  people  with ;  but  that  he  had 
money,  too,  which  he  would  not  hesitate  to  use,  if  I  didn't 
come  to  my  senses  and  abandon  this  attitude.  So  I  could  go 
on  at  the  peril  of  my  own  reputation  —  and  a  great  deal 
more  in  the  same  strain.  By  that  time  I  was  beginning  to 
be  pretty  tired  of  him.  So  when  he  stopped  to  take  breath, 
I  said:  '  Miss  Stannifer!  '  and  Miss  Stannifer  came  out  from 
behind  a  screen  where  she  had  been  all  the  time.  She  only 
went  out  of  one  door  and  came  in  at  another!  I  said  to  her: 
^  Kindly  read  from  your  notes  what  Herr  Gherardi  has  been 
saying  to  me.'  So  she  started  to  read,  all  about  the  bribing 
and  everything.  Then  he  bounced  up,  shrieking  that  this 
was  a  verdammt  trick!  I  said,  yes  indeed,  it  was!  With  that 
he  went  raging  around,  calling  me  names,  perfectly  crazy. 
And  when  he  got  out  of  breath  again,  I  said:  '  Miss  Stanni- 
fer, have  you  taken  all  that  Herr  Gherardi  has  been  saying?' 
And  she  began  to  read  again!  "  Edith  paused  with  her  first 
smile;  it  was  bright  as  a  new  sword.  ''  Oh,  Dad,  you've  no 
idea  what  a  comedy  it  was  to  see  Miss  Stannifer  with  her 
fountain-pen  and  her  eyeglasses,  and  to  hear  her  in  that  pre- 
cise voice  reading  out  all  the  things  he  had  said,  indecent  and 
all.  She  never  balked  at  one  of  them !  He  was  almost  petri- 
fied. You  know  even  he  could  understand,  though  it  must 
have  gone  awfully  against  the  grain  with  him,  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  any  sane  human  being  to  doubt  Miss 
Stannifer  for  a  minute,  or  to  associate  her  with  anything 
disreputable;  even  if  one  didn't  know  anything  about  her, 
and  a  great  many  people  do  know  all  about  her,  on  account 
of  her  being  in  the  Falkenberg  house  for  so  long.  But  one 
only  has  to  look  at  her,  anyhow." 


234  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

Lawson  gazed  at  his  daughter  in  stark  delight.  He 
chuckled;  he  swore  again,  this  time  without  apology.  "  By 
G — d,  Edith,  there's  not  a  woman  in  creation  that  can 
touch  you!  And  mighty  few  men!  "  He  drew  a  long  breath 
of  satisfaction.  ''  He  must  have  seen  you  had  him  bested  all 
around.    He  couldn't  have  had  much  to  say  after  that." 

Edith  considered,  with  a  slight  perplexed  wrinkle  between 
her  brows.  ^'  Why,  father,  he  did  a  very  queer  thing.  All 
at  once  he  burst  out  stamping  and  raving  and  saying  that 
all  Americans  were  verpfleuchter  schweinhund  —  and  worse 
things  than  that !  —  nothing  but  barbarians,  who  didn't  know 
how  civilized  people  lived.  And  that  we  were  just  like  the 
English,  a  lot  of  upstart,  unscrupulous,  cowardly,  hypocriti- 
cal fools  who  thought  we  owned  the  world.  And  that  we'd 
all  better  look  out;  presently  we'd  find  out  who  was  who; 
presently  we'd  come  to  the  end  of  our  rope;  presently  we'd  be 
taught  something,  and  —  oh,  I  don't  know  how  much  more 
there  was  of  it!  He  fairly  foamed  at  the  mouth.  Even  if 
it  had  all  been  true,  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  Rudolph  and 
me.  I  can't  imagine  what  was  the  matter  with  him.  They 
don't  like  Americans,  and  sneer  at  us,  and  make  it  unpleas- 
ant for  us  very  often;  but  Herr  Gherardi's  talk  was  that  of  a 
madman.  Perhaps  he  simply  had  to  have  some  outlet  for  his 
anger,  and  took  to  blackguarding  my  country,  since  he 
couldn't  do  anything  to  me.  As  soon  as  he  held  up  for  a 
second,  I  said:  '  Miss  Stannifer,  have  you  got  all  that 
down?  '  " 

Lawson  rocked  on  his  seat  with  laughter.  "  You  don't 
mean  to  say  that  she'd  been  taking  that,  too?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  had  given  her  orders  to  take  everything  he 
said,  and  she  meant  to  do  it.  There  she  was,  faithfully  toil- 
ing along  after  him  with  her  note-book!  She  did  say:  '  Herr 
Gherardi  has  been  speaking  so  fast  I'm  afraid  I've  missed 
a  word  here  and  there,  but  —  '  and  then  she  straightened  her 
glasses  and  began  to  read.  He'd  been  so  furious  I  think  he 
hadn't  noticed  her  at  all,  but  when  she  began  he  gave  one 
grand,  final  explosion  and  rushed  out  of  the  room.  That 
was  the  last  of  him.  There  were  others  of  the  family,  mostly 
the  women;  but  it  was  just  about  the  same  thing  over  an4 
over  again.    Not  interesting." 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  235 

In  the  silence  that  ensued,  Lawson  picked  out  another 
cigar,  feeling  that  he  might  smoke  now  with  some  relish. 
He  surveyed  Edith  with  a  keen  pride,  not  all  paternal ;  there 
entered  into  it,  besides,  something  of  race,  something  in- 
herent in  American  ideals  and  traditions.  "  I  wish  I'd  been 
there,"  he  said. 

''I'm  thankful  you  weren't!"  she  retorted  frankly. 
''  You'd  have  been  killing  somebody  —  or  horsewhipping 
them,  at  the  least.  It  was  better  as  it  was.  I  can  take  care 
of  myself." 


CHAPTER  IX 

rHE  return  of  Mrs.  Edith  Rudd  Gherardi,  and  her 
motives  for  returning  —  of  which  she  made  no 
secret  —  created  no  such  commotion  in  or  outside 
the  family  as  might  have  been  feared.  Amongst  most 
American  communities  there  exists  a  sentiment  against 
foreign  marriages  which  does  not  exactly  amount  to  preju- 
dice, rather  to  a  vague  uneasiness,  influenced  by  a  not  at 
all  vague  conception  of  the  worth  of  our  own  marriageable 
population.  Why  should  any  American  young  man  or 
woman  go  seeking  a  spouse  from  another  nation?  Abana 
and  Pharpar  are  better  than  all  the  waters  of  Israel.  As  a 
rule,  it  is  not  without  a  subtle  satisfaction  as  of  prophets 
vindicated  that  we  hear  of  such  matches  turning  out  fail- 
ures; and  Edith's  case  was  no  exception.  There  was  not 
much  surprise  expressed,  and  very  little  curiosity.  Some 
reporters  called,  of  course;  but  were  sent  away  defeated, 
yet  by  good  management  on  her  part,  not  antagonized.  Her 
uncle  Elihu,  on  hearing  the  story,  uttered  a  single  trenchant 
comment. 

"  Why,  Gherardi  must  be  a  damn  fool !  "  said  Elihu. 
"  Their  own  house!    He  ought  to  have  known  better." 

"  Edith  would  have  found  out  just  the  same,  sooner  or 
later,"  said  Lawson.  "  She  had  found  him  out,  in  fact;  she 
stood  it  till  it  got  too  rank.  A  man  can't  get  away  with 
things  like  that  forever." 

"  I  haven't  got  much  use  for  'em  anyhow,"  the  older 
brother  remarked  superfluously.  ''  Now  a  live  American 
business-man  like  George  —  that's  the  kind  of  husband  our 
girls  ought  to  pick  out." 

Lawson  was  silent.  The  truth  was  that  everything  was 
not  running  as  smoothly  in  the  George  Stillman  household 
as  might  have  been  desired.  The  two  families  were  aware 
of   friction  somewhere,   without   being   able  to  locate  it. 

236 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  237 

George  was  taciturn  and  glum ;  Hester  inordinately  restless. 
There  were  never  any  clashes  about  bills  or  expenses;  ob- 
viously Mrs.  George  had  everything  she  wanted,  including 
her  own  way;  then  what  was  the  matter?  Edith,  with  her 
sharp,  pale  eyes  and  her  fresh  experience,  may  have  had  a 
guess,  but  if  so  she  kept  her  own  counsel. 

She  herself  was  somewhat  restless,  but  with  ample  excuse, 
as  everybody  felt.  So  that  when,  after  three  or  four  months 
at  home,  broken  by  nervous  flights  about  the  country,  to 
Pasadena,  to  Aiken,  even  to  Panama  and  the  Bermudas, 
she  divulged  a  plan  for  setting  up  a  separate  establishment 
for  herself,  an  apartment  somewhere  with  Miss  Stannifer 
and  a  couple  of  maids,  there  was  scarcely  any  opposition. 
Her  mother  had  some  fears  that  the  proceeding  would  "  look 
queer,"  but  these  were  soon  quelled.  "  Edith  has  always 
been  so  original!  Nobody  thinks  much  of  anything  she 
does,"  Mrs.  Lawson  sighed  resignedly.  To  her  father's  ob- 
jections, Edith  replied  with  those  frank  and  reasonable 
arguments  which  always  had  weight  with  him. 

*'  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  any  place  for  a  divorced  woman 
in  our  scheme  of  society,  Dad."  she  said.  "  I  never  thought 
about  it  before,  I  never  noticed;  but  now  I  feel  it  all  the 
time.  Everybody  knows  that  I  am  perfectly  all  right;  that 
there's  no  scandal  about  me;  yet  look  at  me!  I'm  not  Miss 
Rudd,  and  I'm  not  Captain  Gherardi's  widow.  My  friends 
are  all  married  and  interested  in  their  homes  and  husbands 
and  babies  and  in  one  another's  homes  and  husbands  and 
babies,  but  not  the  least  bit  in  me.  We  haven't  got  anything 
in  common  any  more.  The  ones  that  aren't  married  have 
all  gone  in  for  some  kind  of  art  or  charity  or  something,  and 
don't  miss  me  particularly.  I'm  too  young  for  the  oldest 
set,  and  too  old  for  the  youngest.  The  debutantes  and  the 
young  chaps  they  go  with  bore  me  to  death,  and  they  don't 
want  me  around,  even  for  a  chaperon.  For  that  matter, 
their  mothers  don't  consider  me  entirely  eligible  as  a  chap- 
eron, though  they  know  I'm  all  right.  Wherever  I  go,  I'm  a 
sort  of  fifth  wheel.  I  think  I'd  do  better  to  take  your  allow- 
ance and  go  away  and  make  a  new  start  somewhere,  in  New 
York  with  Steve,  or  near  him.  He  doesn't  need  me,  either, 
but  Steve  and  I  have  always  been  fairly  congenial." 


238  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"7  need  you,  Edith,"  said  her  father  wistfully;  whereat 
she  kissed  him  with  one  of  her  flashes  of  tenderness,  precious 
because  so  rare.  Nevertheless  she  held  to  her  resolve,  char- 
acteristically;  and  when  the  family  started  for  ''Journey's 
End  "  that  summer,  stopped  off  in  New  York,  despite  the 
heat,  and  spent  a  week  canvassing  Long  Island,  the  Oranges, 
the  Hudson  towns,  as  well  as  the  apartment-house  districts 
of  the  city  itself,  winding  up  triumphantly  at  last  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Park  Avenue. 

"...  The  Montrose  is  really  a  small  hotel,"  she  wrote; 
"  but  my  suite  is  one  of  the  housekeeping  ones,  with  a 
kitchen.  Everything  is  on  a  two-by-four  scale,  of  course, 
except  the  prices,  which  seem  to  me  monstrous  after  Europe. 
But  I  remember  how  ridiculously  cheap  I  thought  everything 
over  there  at  first.  I  shall  have  a  great  deal  of  fun  manag- 
ing; and  please  don't  take  this  for  a  hint  and  increase  the 
allowance.  You  know  I  always  have  plenty  of  money,  and 
yet  somehow  always  have  everything  I  choose,  no  matter 
how  much  it  costs !  I  often  think  it  would  have  been  much 
better  for  me  if  I  had  had  to  work  for  my  living.  I  really 
don't  care  much  for  money  —  though  it  certainly  is  con- 
venient to  have  it." 

Her  father  read  this  part  of  the  letter  with  a  smile  which 
faded  presently  as  the  late  David  with  his  ideas  on  the 
same  subject  stalked  unbidden  through  his  mind.  He  won- 
dered what  Edith  would  say  could  she  know  what  Steve 
knew  of  this  money  which  she  handled  so  well;  would  she 
share  her  brother's  repugnance?  Lawson  had  a  kind  of 
reluctant  conviction  that  Edith  would  do  nothing  of  the 
sort  —  reluctant  because  the  hard  common-sense  that  gov- 
erned her  made  her  seem  altogether  too  much  like  old  David 
himself. 

She  had  seen  Steven,  naturally,  and  reported  him  to  be 
looking  well  and  in  a  modestly  jubilant  state  over  having 
had  a  one- act  play  accepted  by  the  management  of  the  Rose 
Players.  "...  One  of  the  companies  that  have  a  tiny  little 
theatre  and  give  their  performances  with  hardly  any  scenery 
or  accessories,  depending  entirely  on  the  acting.  There 
must  be  a  dozen  such  here.  The  Rose  people  have  set  out  to 
be  different  from  the  others;  for  instance,  Steve  says  they 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  239 

have  a  hard-and-fast  rule  that  any  play  submitted  must  be 
in  the  present  day  and  dress  —  otherwise  they  won't  consider 
it  no  difference  how  good  it  is.  Nothing  mediaeval  or  Ori- 
ental or  fairylandish  goes!  I  suppose  that  kind  has  been 
done  to  death;  or  maybe  these  people  just  want  to  be  odd. 

.  .  I  met  the  director,  a  ]\Ir.  Harding,  a  very  nice  fellow. 
He  dreams  of  a  municipal  theatre,  and  asked  me  ever  so 
many  questions  —  most  of  which  I  couldn't  answer !  —  about 
the  ones  abroad.  .  .  .  Steve's  play  is  called  '  Melodrama: 
There  are  only  about  half  a  dozen  people  in  the  cast.  I  went 
to  a  rehearsal,  but  it  was  all  rather  mixed  up,  none  of  what 
they  call  the  '  business  '  arranged  yet,  and  the  actors  obliged 
to  go  over  every  scene  several  times,  piecemeal,  with  con- 
stant interruptions  and  suggestions  from  Steve  and  the  man- 
ager and  everybody.  .  .  .  They  all  say  you  can't  possibly 
tell  how  any  play  is  going  to  take  with  an  audience,  but  I 
was  immensely  surprised  that  Steve  could  do  so  w^ell;  some 
of  the  dialogue  is  awfully  good. 

''  He  has  some  very  nice  friends.  I  don't  suppose  they  will 
exactlv  take  me  in,  as  I  don't  do  anything  literary  or  artis- 
tic, but  they  will  at  least  tolerate  me;  anyway,  the  Ballards 
are  here,  as  you  know,  and  every  now  and  then  somebody 
else  from  home  turns  up.  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  lonesome. 
I  never  saw  such  a  change  in  two  women  in  my  life  as  in 
Mary  Ballard  and  her  mother.  They  look  prosperous,  for 
one  thing,  but  it's  not  that  alone.  They  both  have  more 
confidence  somehow  —  seem  to  be  more  reliable  and  settled 
than  they  ever  did  before.  There  always  used  to  be  some- 
thing about  Mrs.  Ballard's  smile  that  seemed  forced 
as  if  she  were  on  some  kind  of  strain  all  the  time.  Well, 
every  vestige  of  that  is  gone;  when  she  smiles  nowadays,  you 
feel  that  it's  because  she's  amused,  not  because  she  wants  to 
be  agreeable.  I  asked  her  if  she  would  help  me  fit  up  my 
rooms,  and  was  simply  astounded  when  she  said:  'Oh, 
pshaw,  Edith  Rudd,  you  don't  need  any  help!  You  know 
what  vou  want  better  than  anybody  can  tell  you!  '  and  she 
looked  straight  at  me  and  laughed.  Imagine  Mrs.  Ballard! 
She  always  used  to  have  an  axe  to  grind  for  Mary  or  herself, 
and  never  missed  a  chance  to  grind  it.    So  then  I  said:  '  Well, 

I  have  to  buy  furniture  anyhow,  and  can't  you  steer  me  to 


240  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

the  good  shops?  '  Because  you  see,  Dad,  I'm  pretty  sure  she 
and  Miss  Burke  must  get  a  commission  on  what  they  can 
sell  in  that  way ;  otherwise  there  wouldn't  be  much  in  it  for 
them.  She  agreed  to  that.  .  .  .  Mary  and  Steve  seem  to  have 
settled  down  to  a  sort  of  good-fellows-all-around  basis. 
There's  nothing  sentimental  going  on  in  this  circle,  anyhow, 
I  fancy.  Everybody  has  work  to  do,  and  they're  all  pals, 
not  lovers.  Perhaps  I  notice  it  more  because  I've  just  come 
from  such  a  wretched  nest  of  intrigue  and  sham  emotion, 
everybody  making  a  business  of  being  in  love  or  pretending 
to  be.  Pah!  It  was  sickening!  Here,  it's  all  clean  and 
wholesome.  .  .  . 

"  I've  met  that  weird  Eugene  Rudd,  by  the  way.  Don't 
quite  know  what  to  make  of  him,  but  Steve  likes  him." 

It  began  to  be  very  hot  and  New  York  closed  its  houses, 
seeking  the  mountains  and  the  seashore.  Business  was  so 
dull  that  the  Lanthorn  put  up  its  shutters,  too ;  Miss  Burke 
going  off  to  a  resort  in  Michigan  where  her  mother  was  stay- 
ing, Mrs.  Ballard  with  Mary  to  a  farm-house  up  in  Ver- 
mont. "Journey's  End"  was  knee  deep  in  midsummer 
bloom  by  the  time  Edith  reached  there,  and  Clam  Beachers 
were  coming  over  in  droves,  as  usual,  of  a  Thursday  after- 
noon, for  the  spectacle,  and  Mrs.  Rudd,  as  usual,  was  com- 
plaining about  them.  Stillman,  senior,  was  there  for  a  few 
days;  all  the  country-houses  in  the  neighborhood  were  full, 
and  there  was  visiting  backwards  and  forwards.  It  was 
very  gay  at  Clear  Harbor;  the  links  were  over-crowded,  the 
roads  hummed  with  motor-cars,  the  smart  yachts  went  flash- 
ing along  off-shore.  Into  the  midst  of  this  bright,  careless 
summer  life  dropped  the  news  of  War. 

Though  there  had  been  rumblings  and  threatenings  in 
plenty  beforehand,  no  one  was  ready  for  the  thunderbolt. 
They  read  the  black  two-inch-high  headlines  on  the  terrace 
at  "  Journey's  End,"  unbelievingly;  it  could  not  be  true;  it 
was  a  rumor,  swelled  to  giant  proportions  by  these  sensation- 
mongering  newspapers.  Only  a  few  nights  before  they  had 
seen  afar  off  and  low  down  on  the  horizon  the  lights  of  a 
big  ocean-liner  standing  out  for  Southhampton  and  Cher- 
bourg. Everything  was  going  on  according  to  routine;  it 
was  impossible  that  the  sane,  pleasant,  orderly  universe 
should  be  so  rudely  and  foolishly  disturbed ! 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  241 

Alas,  it  was  only  too  possible!  The  guns  boomed  at  Liege; 
the  liner  came  back;  the  yachts,  one  and  all,  scurried  to  port; 
the  telegraph  and  cable  offices  grew  very  busy.  Old  John 
rushed  ofif  to  the  New  York  offices.  George  came  down  pell- 
mell  from  Nova  Scotia,  where  he  had  been  roughing  it  in  soli- 
tude. Lawson  began  to  talk  as  if  he  had  better  be  at  his 
desk.  Mrs.  Lawson  gave  thanks  openly  that  she  had  not 
gone  over  as  she  had  planned. 

"  Really,  it  was  the  most  fortunate  thing  after  all,  about 
Edith.  I  had  expected  to  make  her  a  visit,  you  know.  Of 
course,  her  —  er  —  her  coming  back  in  —  in  just  this  way, 
changed  everything.  I  can't  help  feeling  that  it  was  provi- 
dential. I  should  have  been  there  now  actually  in  the  middle 
of  it  all,  and  Heaven  only  knows  what  I  should  have  done! 
Everybody  is  having  such  a  time  trying  to  get  home." 

Edith's  own  comment  was  interesting  to  her  circle,  coming 
as  it  did  with  a  certain  authority,  and  moreover  in  an  ina- 
personal  style  that  relieved  the  audience  as  much  as  it 
surprised.  They  said  to  one  another  that  they  had  been 
afraid  of  some  embarrassment  at  first  in  mentioning  the 
subject  before  her;  and  as  to  asking  questions —  !  She  was 
in  a  position  to  know  all  about  Germans  —  some  Germans, 
that  is,  the  upper  class,  the  ruling  class;  she  must  have  had 
perfectly  wonderful  opportunities!  Still,  you  didn't  like  to 
ask  her  questions ;  you  didn't  know  what  minute  you  might 
—  you  might  —  well,  it  would  take  a  great  deal  of  tact,  that 
was  all.  But  she  didn't  seem  to  mind  talking  about  them  — 
the  Court  and  the  Army  and  the  Navy  and  their  politics  and 
all  —  in  the  least;  and  never  spoke  with  any  spite  or  resent- 
ment, just  quietly  told  what  she  had  seen  and  heard  and 
what  her  judgment  was.  It  made  you  feel  that  everything 
she  said  was  true  —  not  exaggerated. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  think  a  German  naval  commander  would 
hesitate  over  sinking  the  Kronprinzessen  Cecilie  or  any 
other  boat,  if  he  had  orders,"  she  said;  "  and  he  would  be 
quite  likely  to  have  orders.  The  passengers  wouldn't  make 
any  difference;  if  they  could  escape  by  the  ship's  boats, 
very  good!  But  if  not,  if  there  weren't  enough  to  go  round, 
or  if  everybody  got  drowned,  I  don't  think  the  Germans 
would  care.    They  would  reason  that  passengers  had  no  busi- 


242  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

ness  to  be  on  board ;  and  that  they  themselves  must  do  their 
duty,  regardless  of  any  private  feeling.  Nobody  has  any- 
business  to  get  in  the  way  of  a  German  when  he  is  doing  his 
duty;  or  if  anybody  does  get  in  the  way,  he  must  take  the 
consequences.  If  some  superior  officer  tells  a  German  sol- 
dier to  cut  all  the  women's  heads  off  in  any  enemy  town, 
or  to  cut  his  own  mother's  head  off,  for  that  matter  —  why, 
it's  his  duty,  and  he  must  do  it,  and  it  would  be  very  silly 
of  the  women  or  of  his  mother  to  object!  Oh,  I  assure  you, 
it's  quite  true!  I've  heard  them  say  so  over  and  over  again. 
They're  terribly  literal  and  practical,  you  know."  And  in 
reply  to  the  outcry  that  this  aroused,  she  merely  smiled, 
'<  Wait  and  see!  " 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  we're  out  of  it,  anyhow,"  her  father  said, 
"  We're  all  going  to  have  pretty  hard  sledding  as  it  is,  if  it 
lasts  any  time  — "  and  added  some  remarks  about  dye- 
stuffs,  potash,  and  such  recondite  matters,  which  were  unin- 
telligible to  the  rest  of  the  family  excepting  Elihu,  who 
assented  gloomily. 

The  world  waited  and  saw.  And  in  the  course  of  this 
waiting  and  observation  sundry  members  of  the  Lawson 
Rudd  domestic  staff  vanished  therefrom,  to  the  great  dismay 
and  annoyance  of  Mrs.  Lawson.  First  the  chauffeur,  who 
was  French ;  then  the  man  in  charge  of  the  water-works  sys- 
tem and  the  other  engines  of  their  private  utilities  outfit,  who 
was  a  Canadian  and  had  been  with  them  six  years.  Then  a 
skilled  dairyman,  an  invaluable  person  scarcely  to  be  re- 
placed for  love  or  money;  he  actually  wept  in  saying  fare- 
well to  a  little  black  Kerry  bull  which  he  had  raised  from  a 
calf  and  of  which  he  was  very  fond  —  but  he  went.  Then 
Walter  McCrae,  old  McCrae's  boy,  already  a  gardener  of 
experience,  the  logical  successor  to  his  father ;  it  seemed  that 
Angus  of  the  lame  leg  had  already  gone,  surrendering  a 
promising  position  with  a  firm  of  landscape  architects  in 
Philadelphia;  he  got  himself  accepted,  lame  leg  and  all,  for 
some  sort  of  "  meelitary  duty  "  as  the  father  told  his  em- 
ployers—  ''  Though  I  couldna  juist  name  it,"  he  explained 
circumspectly.  "  They  made  no  pother  aboot  the  lad's  leg. 
It's  like  they're  takin'  what  they  can  get  and  thank  the 
Lord  'tis  no  waur!  "    Mrs.  Rudd  was  not  profoundly  inter- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  243 

ested  in  Angus,  but  concerning  the  other  desertions  she  made 
loud  complaint. 

"  I  cannot  understand  it!  Of  course  Antoine  had  to  go. 
He  was  a  reservist,  or  whatever  they  call  it,  and,  anyhow, 
being  French,  it  was  natural  that  he  should  want  to.  I  was 
prepared  to  lose  Antoine.  But  the  rest —  !  Why  they 
should  rush  off  in  this  insane  way,  and  leave  us  high  and  dry, 
after  we  have  always  treated  them  so  well!  I  make  it  a 
rule  never  to  talk  about  servants ;  it's  so  tiresome  —  besides 
being  really  underbred.  But  this  is  a  little  too  much.  There 
are  plenty  of  men  without  them,  and  they  don't  owe  anything 
to  the  old  country.  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  that  there  w^as  any 
good  reason  for  England  to  go  into  this  awful  war,  any- 
how—" 

"  England  had  to  go  into  it,  Lucille,"  said  her  husband 
heavily.  "  She  couldn't  stand  by  and  see  these  other  coun- 
tries destroyed;  she  knew  she'd  be  just  waiting  her  turn. 
Might  as  well  go  in  first  as  last." 

"  Not  at  all!  If  they  just  paid  Germany  enough  —  fifty 
or  a  hundred  millions,  something  like  that  —  if  the  English 
had  only  done  that,  they'd  never  have  needed  to  fight  at 
all.  And  the  fighting  is  going  to  cost  them  ever  so  much 
more,"  retorted  the  lady,  acutely  and  practically.  It  was 
one  of  the  few  occasions  when  she  abandoned  her  lifelong 
principle  of  agreeing  with  the  man  of  the  house. 


CHAPTER  X 

SOME  time  in  the  autumn  that  rising  young  man  of  let- 
ters, Mr.  Steven  Rudd,  came  before  the  public  with 
his  first  play.  It  was  produced  by  the  Rose  Company 
of  Players  at  about  the  same  date  that  the  American  wheat- 
schooner  William  P.  Fry  was  overhauled  at  sea  off  our 
coasts  and  scuttled  and  sunk  by  a  German  raider  —  a  glo- 
rious exploit  which  somehow  did  not  evoke  either  the  fear 
or  the  admiration  which  the  Imperial  Government  most 
reasonably  expected.  In  the  meanwhile  another  patriotic 
and  zealous  Teuton  was  caught  in  an  attempt  to  blow  up  a 
railroad  bridge  between  Canada  and  the  United  States  at  a 
point  upon  our  northeasterly  borders,  for  which  the  authori- 
ties callously  sentenced  him  to  jail  and  the  stone-pile;  true 
worth  which  evidences  itself  by  this  species  of  activity  is 
seldom  appreciated  by  the  vulgar  herd.  The  newspapers 
expressed  varying  degrees  of  astonishment,  perplexity  and 
indignation;  there  was  a  great  deal  of  diplomatic  corre- 
spondence going  on;  the  enemy's  use  of  dum-dum  bullets  was 
discovered  by  an  Eminent  Personage  on  one  side  and  the 
news  transmitted  to  an  Eminent  Personage  on  this  side  with 
appropriate  sorrow  and  horror.  The  enemy  did  not  retaliate 
with  like  ''  discoveries  "  of  their  own;  it  was  not  necessary. 
"  Wait  and  see! "  had  been  Mrs.  Edith  Gherardi's  advice, 
and  she  now  would  have  been  amply  justified  in  saying  "  / 
told  you  so! ''  only  Edith  never  descended  to  anything  so 
obvious  and  easy. 

Melodrama,  coming  on  the  boards  at  this  time,  was 
encouragingly  noticed  —  and  notice  of  any  kind,  flattering  or 
the  reverse,  was  held  to  be  encouragement  for  a  theatrical 
offering  in  those  crowded  days.  As  the  Rose  Theatre  never 
put  on  a  piece  for  longer  than  a  week,  its  popularity  could 
not  be  gauged  by  length  of  run;  nor,  as  Melodrama 
shared  the  bill  with  two  other  plays,  could  the  size  and 

244 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  245 

constancy  of  the  audiences  be  taken  as  a  vindication.  But 
Steve  professed  himself  satisfied  to  remain  in  doubt.  The 
curtain  went  down  on  it  every  night  in  applause  as  lively  as 
could  be  hoped  for  from  an  audience  which  was  supposed  to 
consist  entirely  of  those  whom  certain  irreverent  members 
of  the  community  have  nicknamed  "  highbrows."  There  was 
a  superstition  that  it  was  not  in  the  nature  or  habit  of  a 
highbrow  to  become  unduly  demonstrative  in  either  approval 
or  disapproval. 

*'  I've  known  all  along  that  the  real  test  would  come  not 
with  this  play  but  with  my  next  one,"  the  author  told  his 
intimates  shrewdly.  ''  If,  after  Melodrama,  Harding  or 
any  other  manager  wanted  a  play  from  me,  then  I'd  feel 
that  I'd  made  good  —  in  a  small  way,  of  course.  Well,  they 
do.  I've  heard  from  two  men.  That  doesn't  mean  I'm 
Young  Shakespeare,  but  it  means  something.  It  means  a 
lot  of  hard  work,  for  one  thing,"  the  young  fellow  added 
soberly,  yet  incapable  of  repressing  a  certain  elation. 

"  Go  to  it,  oh  youth!  "  said  Eugene.  ''  Produce,  produce! 
Once  I  thought  I  could  do  it  — but  was  undeceived.  I  did 
not  pipe  the  proper  cadence  —  was  out  of  tune  with  the 
times  or  the  fashion  somehow.  '  A  Grecian  poet  7,  hut  born 
too  late!'''  he  quoted  with  a  laugh  and  a  flourish.  ''In 
other  words,  I  was  a  flat  fizzle!  But  you  seem  to  have 
struck  the  right  gait.    Amble  on,  amble  on!  " 

"You  didn't  have  any  luck!"  said  Steve  awkwardly, 
conscious  that  everybody  in  the  gathering  knew  unerringly 
what  had  mterfered  with  Eugene's  succeeding;  Eugene  him- 
self knew.  "  It's  almost  all  in  the  acting  and  stage-manag- 
ing, anyhow." 

Mr.  Sackett  went  and  witnessed  a  performance,  so  that 
the  audience  was  not  pure  and  undiluted  highbrow  upon 
one  occasion,  at  any  rate.  "  Well  I  thought  yours  was  real 
good  —  just  as  good  as  either  of  the  other  plays,  anyhow. 
They  weren't  any  of  'em  exciting.  I  guess  that's  modern 
style.  Things  don't  happen  right  bang  out  before  you  like 
they  used  to  have  in  plays  twenty-five  or  thirty  years  ago. 
Like  Two  Orphans  or  The  Mighty  Dollar  or  Ingomar 
—  any  of  those  old-timers,"  he  said  rather  regretfully.  "  For 
that  matter,  you  take  Shakespeare;  there's  almost  always 


246  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

something  going  on,  on  the  stage  where  you  can  see  it  and 
hear  it,  in  Shakespeare.  He  don't  let  you  down  with  just 
talking  about  it.  Now  yours  being  named  Melodrama  I 
was  sort  of  keyed  up,  expecting  something  to  come  off  all 
the  time,  so  when  nothing  did  come  off,  I  won't  say  but 
what  it  was  a  little  disappointing.  Not  to  the  rest  of  the 
audience,  though,"  he  added  quickly,  in  an  amiable  anxiety 
to  save  the  author's  feelings.  ''  Everybody  around  where  I 
was  sitting,  was  on  to  the  whole  situation  from  start  to  finish, 
and  pleased  to  death  when  it  turned  out  the  way  it  did.  I 
heard  one  lady  say  it  was  '  soul-satisfying,'  and  I  judge 
that's  how  all  of  'em  felt." 

Such  is  the  perversity  of  the  average  literary  laborer  that 
Steve  winced  a  little  at  the  above  comment  which  should 
have  satisfied  him  deeply;  the  trouble  was  that  he  thought 
he  detected  about  it  a  faint  flavor  of  cults  and  catchwords. 
"  Soul-satisfying "  —  gr-r-r!  Eugene  glanced  at  him, 
grinning. 

"  You  don't  consider  that  the  common,  everyday  events 
of  life  have  in  them  something  piercingly  dramatic,  Mr. 
Sackett?  "  he  inquired  gravely. 

"  Mine  ain't  had,"  said  the  other  with  simplicity.  "  I 
only  recollect  one  circumstance.  It  was  when  a  man  come 
into  my  bar  that  I  was  running  down  to  the  Mobile  race- 
track in  eighty-nine  and  shot  another  man  that  he  claimed 
had  made  trouble  with  his  girl.  The  other  man  had  a  gun, 
too.  That  was  what  you  might  call  dramatic,  both  of  'em 
shooting,  and  everybody  else  ducking,  and  lots  of  noise  and 
smoke.  And  singular  thing:  there  was  a  nigger  named 
Jason  round  the  place  that  I  just  kept  to  run  errands  and 
clean  up,  empty  the  spittoons  and  so  on,  you  know.  Well, 
sir,  this  nigger  crept  out  and  grabbed  him  —  the  fellow  that 
started  the  shooting  —  by  the  ankle,  and  threw  him  and  sat 
on  him  till  we  got  the  police.  The  other  man  was  dead  by 
that  time.  Reason  I  say  it  was  singular,  I  never  heard  of 
any  nigger  before  or  since,  having  that  much  spunk.  I 
wouldn't  have  believed  it  if  I  hadn't  seen  it.  The  jury  found 
manslaughter  and  they  sent  him  up  for  life,  but  I  expect  he 
got  pardoned  out  after  a  while.  They  most  always  do.  The 
whole  incident  would  have  done  for  a  play,  in  the  old  days, 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  247 

just  as  it  stood  —  barring  Jason.  People  wouldn't  have 
thought  that  part  true  to  life." 

''  No.  '  The  actual  is  not  the  true/  as  R.L.S.  said,"  Eu- 
gene remarked,  wagging  his  head. 

Mary  came  down  from  Tarrytown  Saturday  evening,  and 
sat  with  her  mother  and  Jack  Burke,  who  chanced  to  be  in 
town  for  a  flying  visit,  and  Francie  in  one  of  the  boxes,  the 
most  enthusiastic  auditor  the  play  had,  not  even  excepting 
the  lady  whose  soul  was  satisfied.  Phrases  of  that  sort  did 
not  enter  into  Mary's  vocabulary,  and  it  is  possible  that 
many  of  Steve's  well-wrought  subtleties  of  dialogue  and 
suggestion  escaped  her.  But  she  honestly  though  him  won- 
derful; wonderful  to  be  able  to  write  a  play,  wonderful  to 
get  it  put  on  a  stage  and  acted,  wonderful  to  have  other  plays 
milling  about  his  brain,  waiting  their  chance,  so  to  speak, 
to  be  written  and  acted.  In  the  long  run  a  belief  so  devout 
and  unquestioning  may  well  be  to  the  self-doubting  artis- 
tic temperament  of  a  worth  beyond  rubies,  beyond  the  ap- 
proval of  the  most  discerning  critics,  and  far  more  of  a 
stimulus.  Steve,  who  nevertheless  did  not  have  too  high  a 
conceit  of  his  work  and  accepted  adverse  comment  with 
patience  and  attention,  fairly  warmed  his  heart  in  the  glow 
of  Mary's  admiration.  On  the  other  hand  he  felt  no  resent- 
ment at  young  Burke's  frankly  delivered  opinion. 

"  The  play's  all  right,  Steve,  and,  anyhow,  you  got  it  acted 
—  but  it's  a  good  deal  of  a  gloom.  I'd  rather  see  something 
more  cheerful  as  a  steady  thing,  though  this  is  great  once 
in  a  while,"  said  Jack;  and  he  supported  this  judgment  by 
haling  the  box-party  and  the  author  himself  to  a  roof-garden 
after  the  Rose  performance,  whence,  I  am  bound  to  state, 
they  all  returned  home  in  much  higher  spirits  than  Steven's 
effort  would  have  induced.  Jack  was  a  staunch  patron  of 
the  Oh,  Take  a  Look!  and  the  Airy  Fairy  school  of 
entertainment  as  expounded  by  various  eccentric  male  come- 
dians, several  dozens  of  stunningly  pretty  young  women, 
magnificent  settings  and  a  powerful  orchestra;  he  unblush- 
ingly  proclaimed  himself,  in  this  respect,  a  member  of  the 
proletariat.  "  I  can't  even  work  up  much  enthusiasm  over 
Francie's  .junk-shop,"  he  confessed.  "We're  all  tremendously 
proud  of  her  and  of  everything  she's  done,  making  good  right 


248  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

here  in  New  York  in  competition  with  the  best  people  in  the 
country.  We  think  Francie's  some  girl !  Trouble  is,  I  can't 
see  that  she  fills  a  long-felt  want  exactly.  It's  all  very  funny 
and  picturesque  and  all  that,  but  what's  it  good  for? 
And  all  that  long-winded  talk  about  'values '  and  '  tying 
the  decoration  together  '  —  it  gets  met  Mrs.  Ballard's  very 
good  at  that,  I  notice.  I  expect  considerable  of  the  credit 
ought  to  go  to  Mrs.  Ballard." 

''  Yes.  She's  done  a  deal  of  work.  It's  a  kind,  though, 
that  she's  very  well  fitted  for;  nobody  minds  working  hard 
at  a  job  they  like." 

"  It  certainly  agrees  with  her  all  right,"  Jack  said  thought- 
fully —  so  thoughtfully  that  Steven  looked  at  Mrs.  Ballard 
the  next  time  they  met  with  sharpened  interest.  It  was  true ; 
she  seemed  younger,  fresher,  he  thought;  he  spoke  about  it 
to  Mary,  and  to  his  sister  Edith.  The  latter  agreed  indif- 
ferently; but  it  seemed  to  Steven  that  Mary  flushed  and 
looked  obliquely  while  answering  with  warmth  that  Mother 
was  perfectly  wonderful;  and  that  then  she  dashed  along 
talking  about  something  or  somebody  else  rather  too 
abruptly  —  yet  all  the  while  there  was  a  gleam  of  uneasy 
mirth  in  her  eye.    Or  had  he  fancied  that,  too? 

Edith  was  now  a  settled  tenant  at  "  The  Montrose  "  where 
her  tiny  apartment  with  its  sparse  yet  adequate  and  thor- 
oughly comfortable  furnishings,  its  calculated  illusion  of 
spaciousness,  curiously  reflected  her  personality.  Her 
father  had  a  pied-a-terre  there,  when  he  came  to  New  York; 
and  this  winter  he  came  much  more  often  than  ever  before, 
and  showed  the  strain  of  the  harassing  times.  "  You  will  be 
as  free  here  as  at  any  hotel,"  Edith  told  him,  and  it  was  the 
literal  truth.  He  was  freer  than  in  his  own  house!  The 
young  woman  had  a  masculine  genius  for  companionship, 
never  solicitous,  never  obtrusive,  yet  invariably  at  hand 
when  wanted.  Lawson  fell  into  the  habit  of  talking  to  her 
about  his  affairs  —  where  was  the  woman  of  whom  he  had 
ever  made  a  confidante  hitherto?  Edith  heard  in  detail 
how  dead  everything  had  been  during  the  first  months  of  the 
War ;  how  things  were  beginning  to  look  up  now ;  about  the 
munition-factories  working  overtime  and  the  soaring  prices 
of  chemicals.    The  Rudd  Company  could  ship  next  to  noth- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  249 

ing  through  to  Germany;  but  the  demand  from  England, 
France,  Russia  —  ! 

"  And  I'd  rather  deal  with  them,  anyhow.  My  sympathies 
are  all  with  them,"  he  used  to  declare  roundly.  "  We're 
supposed  to  be  neutral  —  but  who  is  really  neutral  in  his 
heart?  It's  the  nature  of  men  to  take  sides;  we  can't  help 
it.  I  don't  think  that  I'm  influenced  by  personal  feeling;  I 
think  I'd  have  been  against  the  Germans,  even  if  you'd  never 
had  your  experience.  The  way  they're  conducting  this  war 
has  showed  them  up."  He  talked  of  going  across  in  the 
spring. 

"  You  may  be  here  in  time  for  Steve's  new  play,  then," 
Edith  said.  "  They're  going  to  bring  it  out  about  Easter,  I 
believe.  Who?  Oh,  the  same  people,  the  Rose  Company. 
If  they  keep  on,  they'll  finally  make  Steve  a  fashionable  fad 
—  among  the  elect,  the  cultured  few,  you  know,"  she  smiled 
a  smile  of  lazy  irony.  ''  I  haven't  much  patience  with  that 
sort  of  thing  myself.  But  for  a  writer,  an  artist  —  why,  it 
must  be  the  very  breath  of  their  nostrils,  and  what's  more  to 
the  purpose,  it's  bread  and  butter  in  their  mouths!  Steve 
deserves  it;  he  is  clever." 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  boy,  Edith,"  her  father  said. 

"  I  daresay  I'd  have  made  a  pretty  fair  boy,"  she  agreed 
musingly.  "  I'd  have  liked  w^orking.  I  couldn't  go  into  any 
sort  of  business  now,  because  I  haven't  had  the  training." 

"  You  could  learn.  I'm  sure  you  could  learn  anything  you 
undertook,"  said  Lawson  —  not  too  warmly,  however. 
"  Only  I  hope  you  won't  —  I'd  rather  you  didn't.  I  don't 
like  women  in  business." 

"  Oh,  have  no  fear!  I  shan't  learn.  I'd  want  to  be  at  the 
head  of  things  from  the  start,  I'd  rather  bungle  along  my 
own  way  than  have  anybody  show  me  or  order  me.  And 
that's  a  very  impractical  spirit,"  said  Edith,  manifestly 
amused  at  the  spectacle  of  her  own  futility.  It  was  not  long 
after  this  conversation  that  she  asked  him  one  day  in  another 
moment  of  intimacy  and  sympathy:  "  Father,  what  was  the 
trouble  between  you  and  Steve?  " 

After  a  little  pause,  Lawson  said:  ''  We  didn't  exactly  have 
any  trouble ;  I  mean  we  didn't  quarrel  in  the  ordinary  sense. 
I  suppose  that's  the  general  impression,  though." 


250  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  The  general  impression  probably  is  that  Steve  misbe- 
haved in  some  way,  and  that  you  found  it  out,"  said  Edith 
coolly.  "  That's  what  Mother  and  Hester  think.  It's 
natural." 

''  It's  very  unjust,  Edith,"  said  her  father  heatedly.  "  He 
didn't  do  anything  wrong.  Anybody  that  knows  Steven 
ought  to  know  that  whatever  mistakes  he  might  make,  he 
is  incapable  of  anything  low  or  unbecoming." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  was  sure  of  that,"  Edith  rejoined,  unmoved. 
"  But  people  will  talk,  you  know.  When  they've  tried  to 
pump  me,  I've  always  said  that  you  and  he  didn't  get  along. 
That's  near  enough  to  the  truth,  I  daresay." 

Lawson  looked  at  his  daughter,  acknowledging  to  himself 
that  he  was  a  little  afraid  of  her,  now  that  the  time  had 
come  to  tell  her  this  truth.  Not  of  her  condemnation,  for  he 
knew  in  advance  almost  to  a  certainty  that  Edith  would 
not  condemn  either  Steven  or  himself;  it  was  her  judgment 
on  old  David  Rudd  that  Lawson  feared.  His  mind  stood  in 
wonder  before  his  own  inconsistencies;  he  had  found  Steven 
foolish,  unreasonable,  quixotic;  Steven  had  angered  and 
pained  him.  Edith  would  be  and  do  the  exact  reverse;  and 
instead  of  relief  at  the  prospect  a  miserable  anxiety  invaded 
him.  Supposing  she  should  admire  her  grandfather?  —  or 
merely  laugh?  —  or  shrug  the  whole  business  away,  as  too 
trivial  for  consideration?  None  the  less,  he  braced  himself 
to  tell  her,  impersonally,  with  a  painstaking  avoidance  of 
exculpation;  and  was  confounded  again  at  the  relief  with 
which  he  heard  her  first  comment. 

"  The  old  man  must  have  been  fond  of  money!  "  was  all 
Edith  said;  but  it  summed  up  the  case  against  David,  nor 
had  all  Steven's  heady  indignation  expressed  a  verdict  so 
final  and  so  scathing.  After  a  moment  of  thought  she  asked 
one  or  two  questions  characteristically  pointed.  ''  I  suppose 
there  was  no  possible  way  of  finding  out  how  much  he  made 
by  these  government  contracts?  " 

"  No.  If  there  ever  was  any  record,  it  had  disappeared 
from  the  firm's  papers  before  your  Uncle  Elihu  and  I  took 
charge." 

"  He  wouldn't  have  been  likely  to  keep  such  a  record," 
said  Edith  dryly.    "  But  I  thought  the  Government  might 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  251 

have.  There  are  places  in  Washington  —  official  bureaux  — 
for  things  of  that  sort,  aren't  there?  " 

Decidedly  Edith  thought  of  everything!  It  had  never 
once  occurred  to  Steven  to  make  such  an  inquiry.  ''  Yes," 
said  Lawson  unwillingly ;  ''  but,  Edith,  the  plain  truth  is 
that  your  grandfather  covered  up  his  tracks  too  well.  They 
all  did.  I  don't  think  a  single  one  of  the  men  who  —  who 
did  that  sort  of  thing  was  ever  brought  to  account  for  it." 
And  answering  her  unspoken  thought,  he  said  earnestly: 
''  If  it  had  been  a  matter  of  making  restitution  in  the  exact 
sum  —  handing  it  back  to  the  United  States  Treasury  — 
well,  we  might  have  done  it.  Only  that  wouldn't  have  wiped 
the  slate  clean.  That  money,  of  course,  had  entered  into  the 
foundations  of  the  business.  Well,  Steve  thought,  I  believe, 
that  we  ought  to  have  wrecked  the  business  in  some  way 
and  begun  all  over  again !  That's  ridiculous.  But  even  sup- 
posing we  had  been  insane  enough  to  do  such  a  thing,  would 
that  have  squared  things?  Why,  not  at  all!  You  can  see 
that,  I'm  sure.  But  Steven  couldn't,  and  that's  the  sole 
trouble,  as  you  call  it,  between  us." 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  it.  Some  scores  can't  ever  be  paid,"  said 
Edith.  She  was  thoughtfully  silent  for  another  instant,  then 
said:  "  Steve's  all  right,  though,  Dad."  She  made  no  attempt 
at  mediation;  in  fact,  by  tacit  agreement,  neither  one  of 
them  mentioned  the  subject  again. 

The  winter  w^ore  along;  and  towards  spring  Steve's  play, 
The  Toiling  Masses,  began  to  get  in  shape  for  production. 
Meanwhile  the  staff  at  Fulano's  had  been  thinned  out  by  the 
loss  of  sundry  of  its  foreign  members,  and  Mr.  Rudd  was 
advanced  once  more  in  consequence.  This,  at  least,  was  the 
reason  the  young  man  himself  alleged.  ^'  It's  an  ill  wind 
that  blows  no  one  some  good,"  he  said  to  Eugene  cheerfully, 
and  was  surprised  at  the  lack  of  response  from  the  other  — 
he  who  was,  in  ordinary,  so  responsive. 

"  If  the  wind  that's  blowing  now  in  Europe  takes  to  blow- 
ing on  this  side,  you'll  have  nothing  to  rejoice  over!  "  Eugene 
growled.  And  he  discoursed  fiercely  upon  the  assurance 
lately  given  to  the  country  through  the  medium  of  the  press 
by  a  certain  exalted  official  to  the  effect  that  were  the  United 
States  menaced  by  any  foreign  power  a  million  men  would 


252  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

spring  to  the  defence  between  the  rising  and  the  setting  of  the 
sun.  "  We  think  ourselves  so  sharp-witted,  so  practical,  so 
efficient  —  and  yet  we  listen  complacently  to  drivel  like 
that!  Whatever  happens  will  serve  us  right!  "  he  would  cry 
out,  stalking  restlessly  up  and  down  his  cramped  quarters, 
with  the  pipe  dead  between  his  teeth.  *'  We  invite  calamity. 
We  wash  our  hands  like  Pilate,  without  half  Pilate's  excuse. 
We  shirk  every  responsibility  —  and  still  ingenuously  de- 
mand to  be  respected  and  admired !  " 

"  Well,  I  never  heard  anybody  say  anything  in  particular 
against  Pilate,"  said  Steven,  wondering  at  his  vehemence. 
"  Come,  Eugene,  we  have  troubles  of  our  own,  haven't  we? 
Mexico,  Japan,  Labor,  Votes  for  Women,  all  the  rest  of  it? 
This  isn't  our  quarrel." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  that  it  isn't.  I'm  not  so  sure  that  it's 
not  everybody's  quarrel,"  said  Eugene  gloomily.  "  Oh,  go 
along,  Steve!  You're  young,  you're  occupied  with  your  own 
affairs.  Some  day  you'll  wake  up  —  "  with  which  he  would 
get  back  to  work,  though  with  obvious  effort,  driving  him- 
self. The  work  was  of  the  same  quality  as  ever,  but  alas, 
such  demand  as  there  had  been  for  it  fell  off  notably  this 
winter,  owing  to  his  uncompromisingly  non-neutral  atti- 
tude. The  periodicals  for  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
writing  shied  at  sponsoring  views  so  one-sided,  and  set  forth, 
as  they  hinted,  so  intemperately ;  that  they  were  set  forth 
also  with  great  vigor  and  lucidity  and  were  in  the  main  un- 
answerable, nowise  commended  them.  Some  of  the  editors 
who  knew  and  liked  him,  remonstrated;  but  by  far  the 
greater  number  of  the  manuscripts  were  rejected  with  per- 
functory phrases  which  Eugene  interpreted  with  scoffing. 
'-  This  fellow  signs  himself  Herman  Klumpf  —  strange  that 
there  is  no  place  in  his  valuable  publication  for  any  criti- 
cism of  German  methods  in  Belgium!  "  he  remarked.  Or, 
"  The  Uplift  thinks  me  a  little  too  ready  to  condemn  the  at- 
tacks on  the  English  coast-towns,  which  are  '  perfectly  justi- 
fiable from  the  point  of  view  of  military  necessity  about) 
which  the  layman  is  unable  to  judge/  But  the  chap  that 
wrote  that  is  in  all  probability  a  layman  himself !  I  should 
like  to  tell  him  that  it  is  not  important  that  a  layman  should 
be  able  to  judge,  but  highly  desirable  that  he  should  be  able 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  253 

to  think.    I  suppose  they've  got  a  heavy  list  of  German  ad- 
vertisers.   That's  their  real  argument." 

April  came,  and  the  window-boxes  bloomed  along  the 
upper  reaches  of  the  Avenue,  as  if  war  and  rumors  of  war 
were  things  belonging  to  another  sphere.  The  date  set  for 
The  Toiling  Masses  arrived.  It  may  have  been  a  mere 
coincidence  that  Steven's  father  came  on  to  New  York  that 
week ;  the  city  was  full  of  perturbed  business-men  from  the 
Middle  West  and  indeed  from  every  other  quarter  of  the 
compass,  so  the  fact  that  Mr.  Rudd's  son  was  about  to  bring 
out  a  play  at  this  time  should  be  of  no  especial  significance. 
Lawson's  old  friend  Stillman  was  in  town,  too,  waiting  for  a 
steamer;  the  train  which  brought  him  from  the  Pacific  Coast 
had  been  held  up  by  a  belated  blizzard  crossing  Wyoming, 
so  old  John  had  missed  the  sailing  of  the  Lusitania  on  which 
he  was  booked,  by  half  a  day  —  a  vexatious  circumstance. 
It  was  imperative  that  he  should  be  in  London  before  the 
middle  of  the  month,  he  told  Lawson,  frowning  and  fretting 
a  little.  He  had  plans  for  going  from  thence  to  Russia;  this 
delay  was  most  annoying. 

Steven  himself  knew  nothing  of  these  visits;  Edith,  the 
close-mouthed,  did  not  tell  him  for  some  reason.  The  first 
performance  had  been  set  for  a  matinee;  and  the  young 
fellow  went  down  to  the  ''  Rose  "  on  the  momentous  after- 
noon in  a  good  deal  of  excitement.  He  waited  in  the  wings 
all  through  the  first  number  on  the  programme,  a  charming 
conceit  entitled  Death  in  the  Pot  wherein  a  lady  of  un- 
certain—or perhaps  too  certain  —  morals  inadvertently 
poisoned  the  wrong  lover.  Steve  knew  the  author,  a  lank 
girl  in  a  mediaeval-looking  tunic,  with  black  hair  cut  short; 
and  he  watched  her  go  out  for  her  curtain-call,  and  shook 
her  thin,  feverish  hand  when  she  came  back  with  whispers 
of  applause,  and  the  private  aspiration  that  he  would  be 
saved  from  making  such  a  fool  of  himself,  if  the  audience 
accorded  him  a  like  compliment.  His  own  play  came  next. 
One  of  the  actors,  after  a  prolonged  survey  through  the  peep- 
hole, came  and  stood  by  him  with  encouraging  words.  A 
certain  well-known  exploiter  of  the  drama  on  Broadway  was 
in  one  of  the  boxes,  he  reported.  "  And  we  may  talk,  and  we 
may  talk,  Broadway's  the  place!  "  he  remarked  emgmati- 


254  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

cally.    "  There're  some  of  your  friends  in  the  box  opposite. 
Mrs.  Gherardi  and  somebody  else." 

"Somebody  else?  Er  — a  lady?  Ladies?"  queried 
Steven,  thinking  of  Mary;  but  she  had  lamented  not  being 
able  to  come  on  account  of  school-hours.  He  was  not  sur- 
prised that  the  other  man  remembered  Edith,  after  having 
met  her  only  once  or  twice;  everybody  always  remembered 
Edith,  and  whatever  group  she  happened  to  be  associated 
with  at  the  moment  was  likely  to  be  pointed  out  as  "  Mrs. 
Gherardi  and  somebody  else." 

"  Yes,  two  men.  You  ought  to  go  and  take  a  look  at  them. 
Typical  Tweedledum  and  Tweedledee !  " 

Steven  went  to  the  peep-hole;  he  came  back  wearing  so 
startled  a  look  that  the  actor  observed  it,  even  in  the  half- 
light  of  their  corner.  ''  What's  up?  "  he  thought,  but  pru- 
dently refrained  from  inquiring. 

''Why,  it's  —  it's  my  father  and  a  friend  of  his,"  said 
Steven.    "  I  didn't  even  know  he  was  in  town." 

"  He  thought  he'd  surprise  you,  I  daresay,"  said  the  other, 
considerately  dissembling  his  own  surprise.  There  had  been 
some  prince-in-disguise  tales  about  Mr.  Steven  Rudd  cir- 
culating among  the  theatrical  small  fry  whence  they  inevi- 
tably penetrated  to  the  greater;  one  by  one  the  performers 
went  and  inspected  the  two  elderly,  well-dressed  gentlemen 
in  Mrs.  Gherardi's  box,  and  speculated  as  to  which  was  Rudd 
senior.  A  day  or  so  later  when  a  cut  of  John  Stillman  came 
out  with  others  in  the  papers  at  the  top  of  a  column  with 
the  caption:  "  Railroad  Kings  Confer,"  they  all  recognized 

it. 

As  for  Lawson  and  John  themselves,  it  is  doubtful  if 
either  one  had  ever  enjoyed  a  dramatic  performance  so  much 
in  his  life,  though  both  were  enriched  by  menaories  of  the 
most  famous  plays  and  players  of  two  generations.  Char- 
lotte Cushman,  Jefferson,  Adelaide  Neilson,  Booth,  Terry, 
Salvini  —  whom  had  they  not  seen?  And  what  productions 
of  Shakespeare,  of  Sheridan,  of  Sardou  and  Scribe!  Law- 
son  found  that  The  Toiling  Masses  in  its  one  act,  "  com- 
pared very  favorably  —  "  as  he  said,  desperately  feigmng  a 
critical  detachment.  "  And  the  company  seems  to  me  en- 
tirely adequate." 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  255 

"Why,  it's  first-rate!  It's  fine!"  old  John  rumbled  in 
accompaniment.  "  Why,  Steve's  way  up,  Lawson,  right  at 
the  top !  Always  knew  he  was  bright,  but  —  Just  see  how 
much  better  his  is  than  that  Borgia  business,  that  poisoning 
bee  they  started  off  with !  " 

Edith  looked  from  one  to  the  other  surprised  and  secretly 
touched,  for  all  her  cool-heartedness.  "  How  fond  they 
are  of  each  other!  "  she  thought.  "  Mr.  Stillman  is  pleased 
because  Father  is  so  pleased.  And  how  much  Father  thinks 
of  Steve,  how  proud  he  is!  " 

It  was  just  after  Steven's  curtain-speech  —  which  Mr. 
Rudd  declared,  with  the  same  elaborately  indifferent  air,  to 
be  in  very  good  taste,  really  —  during  the  wait  before  the 
third  and  last  piece  that  they  began  to  be  aware  of  some  sub- 
dued stir  among  the  seats ;  the  ushers  hurried  about  and  there 
were  whisperings  and  questions,  and  people  here  and  there 
got  up  and  went  out.  Lawson,  who  was  naturally  observant, 
was  the  first  to  notice,  and  to  call  the  others'  attention. 
"  Something's  happened,"  he  said,  alertly.  '^  I  think  there's 
an  extra  out.  Another  big  battle  over  there,  maybe."  He 
spoke  to  a  passing  usher,  but  the  lad  shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  They  say  the  Germans  have  tor- 
pedoed some  ship." 

''Another  sensational  rumor!  It  must  keep  'em  on  the 
hop  inventing  them!  "  Mr.  Stillman  said  with  contempt. 
They  all  agreed  that  it  was  unlucky  for  the  third  play  to 
have  this  conflicting  interest  aroused  at  this  moment;  the 
restlessness  of  the  audience  was  plainly  to  be  sensed. 

"  Good  thing  for  Steven  that  his  is  over!  "  said  his  father 
contentedly.  "  It'll  be  hard  to  get  people's  attention  fixed,  in 
competition  with  this  other  excitement." 

"  I  sometimes  wonder  how  we  can  be  interested  in  any- 
thing except  what's  going  on  over  there  in  Europe,"  said  his 
friend.  "  Still  we've  got  to  have  some  distraction.  They 
say  the  soldiers  on  leave  fairly  crowd  the  theatres  in  London 
and  Paris  and  they  can't  get  the  entertainment  too  light  and 
silly  for  them.  Slap-stick  farces,  tumbling,  dancing,  all  that. 
You  can  understand  it.  Poor  devils!  I'm  curious  to  see 
London;  it  w^ill  be  so  different." 

Outside  with  the  rest  of  the  crowd  in  the  chilly  spring 


256  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

twilight,  Mr.  Rudd  got  hold  of  a  newsboy,  as  they  struggled 
towards  their  automobile.  Everybody  was  getting  hold  of 
newsboys,  their  unintelligible  shoutings  filled  the  air.  "  Here, 
now  we'll  see  what  the  excitement's  all  about,"  said  Lawson, 
unfolding  the  paper,  as  he  took  his  seat.  The  next  instant  he 
exclaimed  aloud;  they  all  exclaimed,  and  studied  again  the 
tall  black  type  in  a  silence  of  appalled  faces. 

"  It's  a  story  —  it's  a  newspaper  story,  all  exaggerated!  " 
said  Stillman  at  last.    "  They  wouldn't  —  " 

"  Yes,  they  would!  "  said  Edith. 

Her  father  said:  ''  The  Lusitania!  Why  —  why,  you  might 
have  been  on  her,  John!    You'd  have  been  on  her!  " 

''  Oh,  pshaw,  this  isn't  authoritative.  See,  down  here  it 
says :  '  It  is  rumored  — '  " 

*'  Well,  there  was  a  lot  of  talk  before  she  sailed,"  said 
Lawson.  "  The  Germans  were  threatening  something  of  the 
kind  —  " 

*'  They  wouldn't  do  it,  though.  Nobody  would,"  the  other 
persisted  stoutly. 

"  Yes,  they  would,"  said  Edith  again,  with  her  stiU  face. 

Steven,  reaching  St.  John's  Building  later,  with  the  taste 
of  his  modest  triumph  still  rich  in  his  mouth,  though  dulled, 
as  must  have  been  the  personal  thought  and  feeling  of  every 
honest  and  decent  man,  by  the  overpowering  tidings,  stopped 
for  a  word  with  Eugene.  The  latter  had  not  gone  to  the  the- 
atre that  afternoon;  he  was  at  home  as  the  light  streaming 
through  his  transom,  and  sounds  of  movement  within  indi- 
cated. When  he  opened  the  door,  Steven  stood  in  astonish- 
ment at  the  tumbled  and  confused  aspect  of  the  rooms, 
always  so  orderly.  There  was  a  packing-case,  and  papers 
and  straw  were  strewn  about;  Eugene's  iron-bed,  dismem- 
bered, lay  in  a  straightened  heap  of  wreckage,  and  there  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor  stood  his  forlorn  old  trunk  and  suit- 
case with  clothes  and  shoes  and  books,  just  as  Steve  remem- 
bered them  on  another  day,  five  years  ago.  But  on  the  pres- 
ent occasion  Eugene  was  entirely  sober  and  master  of  him- 
self. He  had  taken  off  his  coat  and  with  shirtsleeves  rolled 
up  and  his  pipe  going  comfortably,  went  back  to  work  amidst 
the  dunnage  as  soon  as  he  had  let  Steven  in,  without  waste 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  257 

of  time.  It  struck  Steven,  before  he  could  frame  a  question, 
that  there  was  something  brisk,  happy  and  decided  in 
Eugene's  movements,  as  of  a  mind  made  up,  definitely  at 
ease. 

"  I  haven't  been  evicted,"  he  said,  looking  up  and  grinning 
around  the  pipe-stem  at  Steven's  half-uttered  interrogation ; 
'*'  I  pay  my  debts  and  live  cleanly,  even  if  I  haven't  alto- 
gether foresworn  sack.  No,  I'm  not  asked  to  go.  I'm  go- 
ing! "  He  rolled  some  wadding  together  and  rammed  it 
down  into  a  crevice  of  the  packing-box  with  a  victorious 
gesture.    "  How  was  the  play,  Steve?    New  laurels?  " 

"  It  was  all  right.  But  have  you  heard?  Have  you  seen 
the  paper?  " 

Eugene  waved  it  away.  "  I've  heard  —  I've  seen.  That's 
why  I'm  going." 

"  Going  where?  " 

"  To  Canada,"  said  Eugene,  in  as  matter-of-fact  a  manner 
as  if  he  had  only  announced  a  change  of  tenements.  At 
sight  of  the  other's  face  he  broke  into  a  laugh.  "  You  look 
as  if  I  had  said  I  was  going  to  Senegambia !  I  don't  expect 
to  make  my  home  in  Canada,"  he  went  on,  busily  packing; 
*'  so  I  am  about  to  dispose  of  some  of  my  property.  Mrs. 
Dugan  across  the  way  bought  the  bed,  and  himself  will  be 
over  in  th'  marrnin'  as  soon  as  he  gets  back  from  his  job, 
to  ta-ake  it  awa-ay.  Dugan's  night-watchman  somewhere, 
yez  know.  Would  you  like  the  pewter  tea-set,  Steve?  It's 
the  genuine  old  stuff.     Ask  Mrs.  Ballard  if  it  isn't  —  " 

*'  What  are  you  going  to  Canada  for?  "  said  Steven,  though 
he  knew  before  the  words  left  his  mouth. 

"  To  enlist,  to  be  sure.  And  after  this,  if  questioned,  you'll 
kindly  remember  that  I  come  from  —  from  —  let's  see !  —  I 
come  from  Trasheap,  Province  of  Ontario.  Was  born  there, 
in  fact.    I  am  a  loyal  subject  of  the  English  Crown —  " 

"  They  won't  take  you,  Eugene." 

^'  Maybe  not,  officially.  But  in  that  case,  they  will  take 
me  unofficially,"  retorted  the  other,  tranquilly.  "  There  are 
ways  and  ways." 

"  You  wouldn't  last  a  week  in  the  trenches,"  Steve  urged. 
''  Eugene,  do  be  sensible!  " 

"  Who    said    anything    about   trenches? "    said    Eugene. 


258  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  What,  I  can  pass  coal  in  a  stokehold,  can't  I?  I  can 
hitch  up  a  mule.  I  can  scour  a  camp-kettle.  Be  sensible? 
Where's  the  point  of  being  sensible  a  time  like  this?  I'd 
rather  be  a  fool  and  get  a  whack  at  a  German!  I  tell  you 
I'm  going.  If  you  still  think  the  fight  is  none  of  my  busi- 
ness —  "  he  quoted  Tom  Sawyer  with  relish,  '' '  I  'low  I'll 
make  it  my  business!  '  " 

Steven  looked  at  his  drink-blotched  face  with  a  feelmg 
balanced  between  pity  and  impatience  and  admiration;  no 
man  on  earth  could  be  less  fit  physically,  or  show  a  finer 
temper.  He  acquitted  Eugene  of  any  impulse  of  curiosity 
or  desire  for  adventure;  no,  this  piece  of  crazy  chivalry  was 
of  the  same  fabric  as  the  rest  of  his  ill-fashioned  character, 
woven  through  perplexingly  with  the  same  strand  of  right- 
feeling  and  manliness.  Steve  abandoned  argument;  he 
helped  him  pack,  remembering  that  other  time,  and  wonder- 
ing if  Eugene  remembered  it.  But  the  latter  apparently  had 
nothing  on  his  mind,  least  of  all  old  shameful  memories.  He 
whistled  jubilantly  as  they  worked,  he  made  jokes  about  his 
shabby  belongings ;  he  drew  all  sorts  of  fantastic  pictures  of 
the  future,  vowing  that  he  meant  to  come  back  a  field-mar- 
shal at  the  very  least,  and  strutted  about,  aping  Napoleonic 
attitudes  with  his  hand  in  his  waistcoat.  "  Think  of  our  join- 
ing hands  with  the  French  after  all  these  years  and  bitter- 
nesses !  "  It  was  ''  our  "  already  with  him.  ''  At  any  rate,  if 
I  do  stop  a  bullet,  I  hope  to  be  finished  on  the  spot,"  he  said, 
in  a  flash  of  seriousness.    "  I  want  to  die  all  over,  and  at 


once." 


They  went  down  to  the  train  together.  It  was  the  night- 
express  for  Montreal.  Eugene  had  not  had  any  clear  idea  of 
where  he  would  go  in  Canada;  Montreal  would  do  as  well 
as  any  place,  he  averred  with  boyish  carelessness.  The 
through  ticket  took  two-thirds  of  his  money,  and  he  elected 
to  sit  up  all  night,  rather  than  pay  for  the  sleeping-car, 
though  Steven  pressed  the  money  on  him.  ''  I  can  curl  up 
anywhere.  And  I'm  too  excited  to  sleep,  anyhow,"  he  said, 
happily.  They  got  into  the  crowded,  malodorous  day-coach, 
and  all  at  once  the  moment  for  parting  came. 

Neither  one  of  them  knew  what  to  say;  perhaps  Steven 
would  have  been  more  affected  if  he  had  believed  for  an  in- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  259 

stant  that  the  other  could  carry  out  his  hare-brained  scheme ; 
but  it  seemed  impossible  that  any  recruiting-sergeant  would 
pass  Eugene  Rudd,  and  notwithstanding  his  boasting,  his 
pathetic  eagerness,  what  could  he  really  do,  or  in  what  way 
be  of  any  conceivable  use?  In  a  week,  a  month  at  farthest, 
he  would  undoubtedly  be  back  in  New  York.  They  shook 
hands.  The  car  was  busy  with  people  coming  and  going,  and 
a  man  near  them  leaned  through  the  open  window  to  shout 
after  a  departing  friend:  "  Well,  so  long,  Jim!  My  love  to 
the  folks!" 

"There,  that's  just  what  I  want  to  say,  too,  Steven!  " 
said  Eugene,  a  sudden  and  quite  transfiguring  tenderness 
appearing  on  his  worn,  ill-used  face.  "So  long!  My  love 
to  the  folks.  Don't  forget  that!  "  The  train  pulled  out,  its 
red  tail  lanterns  receding  slowly;  and  presently  even  they 
too  vanished  into  the  dark. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  temper  of  the  country  was  so  belligerent  for  a 
while  that  Steven  made  sure  from  day  to  day  of  see- 
ing Eugene  back,  ready  to  enlist  under  our  own  flag, 
instead  of  the  British.  The  young  man  himself  tingled 
with  anticipation,  and  chafed  and  wondered  at  the  delays, 
the  discussions,  when  —  as  it  seemed  to  him  and  to  a  very 
considerable  body,  perhaps  a  majority,  of  our  citizens  — 
there  was  nothing  to  wait  for,  and  no  point  that  admit- 
ted of  discussion.  But  the  weeks  wheeled  around;  public 
sentiment  calmed  down ;  and  Eugene  did  not  return. 

He  had  promised  to  write;  but  Steve  scarcely  expected  to 
hear  unless  the  impossible  had  happened,  that  is  to  say,  un- 
less he  should  have  been  accepted  for  some  sort  of  service; 
to  confess  failure  in  such  a  gallant  quest  would  be  too  much 
even  for  Eugene's  ironic  spirit.  He  had  the  cause  at  heart, 
took  his  offer  of  himself  seriously,  and  was  pathetically  con- 
fident that  others  would  take  him  seriously.  In  the  mean- 
while scores  of  literary  and  journalistic  adventurers,  ama- 
teur and  professional  alike,  were  hurrying  to  the  great 
scene ;  all  of  it  they  saw  and  part  of  it  they  were  might  well 
have  been  their  motto  —  or  rather  the  motto  they  hoped  to 
earn.  They  took  impartially  risks  and  favors;  gave  an 
immense  amount  of  trouble,  and  no  doubt  corresponding 
good  cheer;  were  paid  inordinately  high,  and  would  have 
delightedly  gone  through  the  same  experiences,  hardships 
and  all,  for  nothing.  Throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  country,  every  public  print  teemed  with  their  writings; 
they  came  home  and  lectured;  they  travelled  up  and  down 
with  lantern-slides;  between  them  and  the  battered  heroes 
of  the  War  who  were  doing  the  same  thing,  there  never  was  a 
time  since  the  trade  of  writing  —  not  to  mention  the  trade  of 
printing  —  was  invented,  when  it  came  in  for  such  universal 
appreciation.    If  Eugene  Rudd  had  only  bided  his  time,  he 

260 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  261 

might  have  been  of  their  number;  Steven  himself  was  ap- 
proached often  enough.  Everything  was  always  arranged 
lor  the  correspondents,  it  was  pointed  out  to  him ;  they  went 
everywhere  and  saw  all  there  was  to  be  seen ;  he  would  have 
no  trouble  —  some  hazards  and  discomforts,  of  course,  but 
think  of  the  experience,  the  opportunities,  the  ''  material  "  — 
enough  to  last  him  the  rest  of  his  life! 

"  I  am  thinking  of  it,"  Steven  would  answer,  stubbornly. 
*'  I  don't  know  that  I'm  so  keen  to  make  capital  out  of 
other  people's  losses  and  sufferings  and  hideous  trials  — 
that's  what  it  comes  to,  in  the  long  run.  There  are  plenty 
who  don't  mind  doing  it,  or  don't  see  it  in  the  light  that  I 
do;  let  them  keep  on!  I  shan't  be  missed.  If  I  ever  do  go, 
I'll  go  on  my  own,  and  get  along  with  the  people  of  the 
country  the  best  I  can."  And  when  it  was  suggested  that 
some  might  say  the  real  reason  of  his  refusal  was  that  he  was 
afraid:  "  They  won't  say  it  to  my  face,"  quoth  young  Mr. 
Rudd,  ominously.    Nor,  in  fact,  did  they. 

He  used  to  meet  Mary  at  the  Lanthorn  and  talk  over  all 
these  matters  with  her.  Not  seldom  they  had  the  place  to 
themselves,  for  by  this  time  the  Lanthorn  and  what  might  be 
called  its  allied  industries  were  driving  so  rushing  a  trade 
that  the  proprietors  had  scarcely  a  moment  they  could  call 
their  own.  Overnight  millionaires,  their  purses  bulging  from 
traffic  in  munitions,  in  automobiles  and  automobile-supplies, 
in  ores,  in  chemicals,  in  grain,  in  leather,  were  now  crowding 
into  New  York  by  the  hundreds.  And  one  and  all  they  were 
clamoring  for  clothes,  jewels,  house-furnishings,  works  of 
art.  They  stopped  at  nothing,  cost  what  it  might,  that  would 
enrich  and  beautify  lives  which  hitherto  had  sadly  lacked 
so  much  of  richness  and  of  beauty.  They  were  pathetic  and 
grotesque  and  also,  as  Mary  profanely  put  it,  they  were  a 
gold-mine,  a  windfall,  a  god-send,  to  people  like  her  mother 
and  Francie.  And  not  only  to  these  two,  but  to  all  the 
musicians,  all  the  painters  and  poets  and  costume-designers 
and  pageant-producers  and  cabinet-makers  and  landscape- 
architects  —  "  And  actors  and  playwrights,"  she  interpolated 
slyly,  "  in  New  York  City.  They  can't  go  anywhere  else 
to  spend  their  money,  and  most  of  them  seem  to  be  crazy 
simply  to  spend  it.     They  buy  the  wildest  things  at  the 


262  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

wildest  prices  —  especially  the  women.  You'd  think  they 
would  all  be  wanting  Doucet  and  Callot  costumes  and  pearl 
necklaces  two  yards  long,  wouldn't  you?  Well,  they  do  buy 
ever  so  many  things  on  that  order;  and  then  there  seems  to 
come  a  time  when  they  all  suddenly  take  a  notion  to  be 
patrons  of  art!  Mother  says  it's  epidemic  among  them,  like 
measles.  She  and  Francie  had  to  go  to  work  and  dig  in  the 
Library  and  the  Museum,  and  cram  up  on  Oriental  rugs 
and  Chinese  porcelains  and  Renaissance  stuff,  you  know,  so 
as  to  talk  the  proper  patter." 

It  was  true.  Honest  Mrs.  Newdollar  from  Oilville,  Okla- 
homa, who  married  Jim  Newdollar  on  a  thousand  a  year,  and 
who  had  been  cooking  meals  and  mending  clothes  —  and 
washing  and  ironing  them  too,  sometimes,  if  the  truth  were 
known  —  for  him  and  the  children  these  twenty  years  past, 
whose  highest  ambition  used  to  be  a  tiled  bathroom  or  a 
course  in  music  for  Mamie,  or  a  Ford  car,  or  a  Swede  maid- 
of-all-work  —  what  now  to  her  were  all  these  pitiful  sim- 
plicities? She  was  ashamed  when  she  remembered  them  and 
herself  in  those  petty  days.  A  tiled  bathroom,  indeed !  Her 
new  house  had  half  a  dozen  or  more  tiled  bathrooms ;  Mamie 
was  going  East  to  school  at  twenty-five  hundred  dollars  a 
term ;  there  was  a  car  in  the  garage  for  every  member  of  the 
family;  the  kitchen  and  backstairs  fairly  pullulated  with 
servants.  Somehow  in  a  little  while  she  began  to  tire  of  this 
heaven;  something  was  missing  from  it  which  she  vaguely 
suspected  of  being  spiritual  or  intellectual ;  and  it  was  prob- 
ably at  this  moment  that  the  bacillus  of  aestheticism  invaded 
her.  Why  could  she  not  have  a  cult  or  a  collection?  Jim 
could  afford  it.  Being  an  American  woman  she  promptly 
had  one!  Erelong  photographs  of  the  Newdollar  sunken 
gardens,  the  Newdollar  music-room,  the  Newdollar  gallery 
of  Italian  landscapes,  the  Newdollar  tapestries,  enamels  or 
what-not  filled  the  fashionable  magazines,  followed  by 
"  write-ups  "  in  the  papers.  It  was  a  day  of  innocent  tri- 
umph for  innumerable  Mrs.  Newdollars,  and  of  generous 
harvests  for  innumerable  Mrs.  Ballards. 

''  I  should  think  your  mother  would  be  very  successful 
with  all  of  them,"  said  Steven.  "  Judging  by  Mr.  Sackett, 
you  know.  He  was  very  much  pleased  with  everything  she 
did." 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  263 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Sackett  was  very  much  pleased  with  everything 
she  did,"  Mary  intoned,  after  a  second,  in  so  odd  an  imi- 
tation of  his  own  words  and  manner  that  Steven  was  taken 
aback,  and  eyed  her  suspiciously.  Mary,  perching  in  an  old 
stuffed  chair  with  a  cover  of  Victorian  needlework,  stirred  a 
marshmallow  round  and  round  in  her  cup  of  chocolate,  eying 
him  back  with  a  kind  of  determined  blankness.  She  had 
on  the  style  of  costume  she  affected,  declaring  it  to  be  the 
only  one  suitable  for  a  physical  instructor,  a  neat,  trig,  con- 
summately tailored  cloth  skirt,  a  white  blouse  and  smart  tie, 
a  small  watch  in  a  leather  strap  around  her  slim,  firm,  taper- 
ing wrist.  But  for  the  feminine  suggestion  of  this  last,  and 
but  for  her  bright  brown  hair,  which  would  wave  softly  in 
spite  of  the  stern  intention  of  her  coiffure,  she  looked  like  a 
boy.  And  at  the  moment,  a  twinkle  of  rather  boyish  roguery 
showed  upon  her  features  and  vanished  in  a  trice.  But 
Steven  caught  it. 

*'  What  are  you  making  fun  of  me  for?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I'm  not  making  fun  of  you,"  said  Mary,  with  the  faint- 
est possible  emphasis  on  the  last  word;  she  appeared  to  re- 
consider, and  added:  ''  I'm  not  making  fun  of  anybody." 

"  Well,  what's  the  joke  then?  " 

"  There  isn't  any  joke,"  said  Mary.  Then,  after  a  pause, 
meeting  his  still  inquiring  and  dissatisfied  gaze,  she  sud- 
denly let  loose  incomprehensible  words.  "  At  least,  it  ought 
not  to  be  a  joke,  only  —  well,  I  suppose  I'm  awful,  but 
somehow  I  can't  think  of  it  seriously,  that  is,  as  seriously 
as  I  ought.  You're  going  to  know  before  long  anyhow,  so 
there's  no  particular  harm  in  telling  you.  I  should  think 
you  might  have  guessed  already.  Haven't  you  noticed  any- 
thingf    Men  are  so  funny,  they  never  do  seem  to  notice!  " 

"  Notice?  "  echoed  Steven  vacantly,  staring  all  around  the 
room.  There  were  no  changes  of  any  importance  in  it,  or  in 
Mary,  at  whom  he  also  stared  exhaustively. 

"Yes.  Goodness,  it's  been  plain  enough!  Mother  and 
Mr.  Sackett  —  "  Something  in  her  expression  told  him  the 
Test 

"  WHAT?  "  he  screeched. 

''  Shh !  Why,  yes.  Why,  he  was  tremendously  taken  with 
her  from  the  very  first." 


264  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  My  great  governor!  "  ejaculated  Steven  feebly.  Mra. 
Ballard  and  Sackett!  He  realized  with  horror  that  he 
wanted  to  laugh  —  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  laughing  up- 
roariously, and  began  precipitately  to  talk,  to  stave  it  off. 
*'  I  don't  know  why  I'm  so  surprised.  Your  mother  is  so 
attractive  it's  easily  understood  —  about  him,  I  mean.  But, 
I  —  somehow  I  wouldn't  have  thought  that  she  —  um  — 
er  —  "  He  gave  up  in  relief  for  Mary  herself  was  smiling 
broadly.  "Oh,  ho,  ho!  Ha-ha-ha!  "  The  studio  resounded 
with  their  laughter. 

It  was  not  wholly  unkind.  To  the  two  young  people,  this 
belated  romance  was  pretty  and  moving  in  spite  of  the  comic 
touch.  They  sympathized  even  while  they  laughed.  "  Poor 
mother !"  said  Mary .  "  I  didn't  think  she'd  have  him.  But 
after  all " 

''After  all,"  said  Steven.  ''Why  shouldn't  she?  Why 
shouldn't  they  both?    When  is  it  going  to  be?  " 

"  This  winter  some  time.  They're  going  to  Palm  Beach." 
She  halted,  and  then  said  with  guilty  amusement:  "  Steve, 
Francie  and  I  heard  the  whole  thing !  " 

"  What  whole  thing?    Heard  what?  " 

"  Why,  when  he  —  he  asked  her,  you  know  —  " 

"  Here,  you  —  you'd  better  not  tell  me,"  interposed 
Steven,  hastily,  reddening.  "  You  don't  want  to  tell  any- 
body, you  know." 

"  Why,  Steve,  we  couldn't  help  it.  We  didn't  mean  to 
hear.  It  was  one  afternoon  here  in  the  studio.  We'd  both 
been  in  the  bathroom,  washing  our  heads,  and  we  were  just 
starting  to  dry  them  by  the  fire  when  we  heard  somebody 
coming  in.  So,  of  course,  we  went  scrambling  back,  we 
didn't  want  to  be  caught,  in  kimonos  and  hair  hanging  all 
around,  all  wet  and  stringy.  So  we  kept  perfectly  quiet,  and 
Mother  thought  that  we'd  gone  out,  and  I  daresay  Mr. 
Sackett  never  thought  about  us  at  all.  He  doesn't  know  to 
this  day ;  Mother  does,  because  she  found  us  afterwards,  but 
she  only  laughed,  or  pretended  to.  You  know  how  Mother 
is.    He  began  right  away,  the  minute  they  got  inside  —  " 

"  Why  didn't  you  cough,  or  something?  " 

"  We  didn't  either  one  of  us  think  quick  enough,  and  you 
know  if  you  don't  do  it  right  off,  you'd  better  not  do  it  at 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  265 

all.  We'd  have  gotten  out  of  the  way  if  we  could;  but  you 
can  hear  everything  in  this  little  place,  whether  you  want  to 
or  not.  And,  besides,  Mr.  Sackett's  a  little  deaf,  you  know, 
and  doesn't  always  know  what  his  voice  sounds  like,  or  just 
how  he's  got  it  pitched,  and  Mother  had  to  speak  pretty 
loud  —  " 

Again  they  both  sat  lost  in  mirth.  "  He  told  her  she  was 
the  most  elegant  lady  he'd  ever  seen,"  said  Mary.  "  And  oh, 
Steve,  what  do  j'ou  think?  When  he  —  he  came  to  the 
point,  you  know,  Mother  said:  'This  is  so  sudden!'  just 
like  a  girl,  just  like  anybody!    Did  you  ever?  " 

Steven  didn't  ever.  "  All  the  same,  it's  all  right,  and  I'm 
glad  of  it !  "  he  asserted,  stoutly.  ''  He'll  be  good  to  her, 
poor  old  chap!  " 

"  Yes.  And  she'll  be  nice  to  him.  Poor  Mother,  she'll 
have  it  easy  for  the  first  time  in  her  life." 

Afterwards  Steven,  meeting  Mr.  Sackett  on  the  street  and 
thinking  to  save  embarrassment,  went  up  and  congratulated 
him  openly  and  shook  his  hand  with  warmth,  attentions 
which  the  bridegroom-elect  received  in  a  very  becoming 
manner;  he  had  no  idea  of  being  embarrassed,  as  it  seemed! 
"  I've  always  admired  Mrs.  Ballard  highly.  Of  course 
she's  not  young  any  more,  but  neither  am  I,"  he  observed 
liberally.  ''  You  know  my  opinion  on  that  point,  anyhow. 
The  parties'  ages  should  suit,  I've  always  thought.  Now  to 
some  people  we  might  look  foolish  going  into  this  thing  at 
our  time  of  life,  but  I  guess  that  won't  worry  us  any.  She'll 
have  everything  she  wants,  and  I  figure  she's  too  smart  and 
too  reasonable  to  want  the  earth.  And  I'm  going  to  have  a 
real  home,  and  somebody  to  leave  my  money  to.  Lemme  tell 
you,  young  man,  you  don't  know  how  much  that  means!  " 

The  bride-to-be,  for  her  part,  was  far  too  accomplished  a 
woman  of  the  world  to  allow  anybody  to  suffer  from  embar- 
rassment on  her  account;  Steven  noticed,  however,  that  in- 
stead of  resorting  to  any  of  her  sophisticated  devices,  she 
merely  took  a  leaf  out  of  Sackett's  own  book,  treating  the 
matter  with  a  plain  and  simple  philosophy.  "  The  fact  is,  we 
are  both  lonely,  and  we  are  on  the  way  to  being  old  and 
lonely.  It's  not  that  there  is  nobody  to  care  for  us,  but 
that  we  ourselves  have  nobody  to  take  care  of.    You  really 


266  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

have  to  feel  that  you  are  necessary  to  somebody,  if  you  want 
to  be  happy.  Now,  Mr.  Sackett  is  entirely  alone,  and  while 
I  love  Mary  —  well,  Mary  is  a  dreadfully  self-reliant  girl," 
said  her  mother,  with  smiling  regret.  ^'  I  don't  feel  as  if  I 
could  do  anything  for  Mary  nowadays.  Whereas  I  am  look- 
ing forward  to  managing  Mr.  Sackett's  house  and  laying 
down  the  law  about  what  kind  of  ties  he  must  wear,  with  the 
most  extraordinary  pleasure!  "  She  spoke  in  a  manner  not 
too  humorous,  not  too  serious,  which  Steven  found  in  very 
good  taste.    He  no  longer  laughed. 

Indeed,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  nobody  laughed;  the 
middle-aged  couple  had  chosen  their  attitude  so  well  that 
it  defeated  ridicule.  Even  the  exalted  Van  Huysens  and, 
Dunwoodies  reconciled  themselves  to  the  match  with 
scarcely  a  murmur.  Mr.  Stillman,  himself  a  man  of  the 
people,  met  Sackett  with  cordiality;  Clara  was  civil!  She 
and  her  Aunt  Ellen  may  have  had  a  tilt  or  two,  but  Mrs. 
Ballard  was  not  likely  to  come  off  second-best  from  that 
sort  of  encounter.  Perhaps  if  Sackett's  bank-account  had 
not  been  calculated  to  inspire  respect,  the  relatives  might 
have  perceived  certain  disadvantages  about  his  birth  and 
manners  and  previous  career,  but  it  is  singular  how  com- 
pletely an  income  of  fifty  thousand  a  year  appeases  hostile 
criticism ! 

Steven  was  not  invited  to  the  wedding;  he  heard  about  it 
afterwards  from  Mary,  who  with  two  or  three  of  the  bride's 
nearest  relatives  —  the  groom  had  none,  which  in  every- 
body's private  opinion  was  most  fortunate  —  made  up  the 
wedding-party.  ^'  Mother  looked  lovely!  "  was  Mary's  en- 
thusiastic report.  "  He  was  a  little  nervous.  The  whole 
thing  was  pretty  solemn,  but  nobody  cried,  though  once  I 
rather  felt  like  it.  After  it  was  over,  we  had  luncheon  at 
the  Ritz;  everything  was  done  well,  in  a  nice  quiet  way. 
Then  they  went  to  the  train  in  that  gorgeous  new  Rolls- 
Royce  he  got  for  Mother.  I  feel  as  if  they  were  going  to  be 
very  happy.  They  —  that  is,  Mr.  Sackett  —  spoke  about 
my  going  to  live  with  them,  but  I'm  not.    I  don't  want  to." 

"  Girls  that  do  things  always  get  so  independent,"  said 
Steven,  experiencing  a  subtle  dissatisfaction.  "  You  all  want 
to  live  by  yourselves." 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  267 

Steven  himself  was  not  living  alone  nowadays;  he  had 
lately  moved  from  St.  John's  Buildings  to  similarly  diminu- 
tive quarters  at  "  The  Montrose,"  on  Edith's  representation 
that  they  would  be  better  ofi'  nearer  together  now  that  both 
lacked  their  accustomed  companion.  For  Miss  Stannifer 
went  back  to  England  not  long  after  Eugene  Rudd's  depart- 
ure; indeed,  the  Englishwoman  had  been  restive  ever  since 
the  outbreak  of  the  War  and  only  the  hard  necessity  of 
earning  a  living  kept  her  on  this  side.  It  was  more  than 
ever  a  necessity  now,  so  many  of  her  people  were  in  the 
service ;  two  nephews  fell  in  the  fighting  around  Ypres,  fine 
lads  of  whom  she  had  been  very  fond.  She  got  letters  from 
home  full  of  sadness,  of  dogged  British  pluck.  There  were 
tales  of  outrage  and  infamy  the  truth  of  which  she  did  not 
question  —  like  Edith,  she  had  lived  too  long  in  Germany! 
It  was  Edith  herself,  at  the  end,  who  counselled  her  to  go. 
"  If  it  were  my  people,  my  war,  I'd  go  —  sometimes  I've 
half  a  mind  to  go  anyhow,  only  I  don't  believe  in  useless 
women  fussing  about,"  said  Edith,  with  more  feeling  than  she 
often  permitted  herself  to  show.  '^  You  go !  You  can  do 
something  in  an  office  or  a  hospital,  and  they  need  every- 
body.'' So  Miss  Stannifer  packed  up  her  meagre  belongings 
and  went;  she  was  attached  to  the  cool,  self-contained,  hard- 
headed  young  woman,  odd  as  that  may  seem,  and  cried  at 
parting  from  her.  There  may  have  been  a  tear  in  Edith's 
chilly,  gray  eyes,  too. 

So  Steven  moved  over  to  ''The  Montrose";  the  brother 
and  sister  had  always  been  congenial  in  spite  of,  or  possibly 
because  of,  fundamentally  different  characters  and  disposi- 
tions, so  their  menage  was  pleasant  enough.  And  in  the 
meanwhile  Steven  heard  at  last  from  Eugene.  The  letter 
was  several  weeks  old  by  the  time  it  reached  him,  and  neces- 
sarily vague  as  to  names  and  places;  for  Eugene  had  not 
only  got  to  the  other  side,  but  actually  to  France,  though 
nowhere  near  the  Front.  He  was  working  in  a  ba-se  hospital 
somewhere  behind  the  lines,  he  reported,  in  the  best  of 
spirits.  "  Had  all  sorts  of  adventures  and  set-backs  getting 
here,  and  I  was  expecting  to  write  you  all  about  everything 
in  detail,  but  find  I  can't  for  two  reasons.  Number  I:  writ- 
ing in  detail  is  not  encouraged  by  the  censor.    And  Number 


268  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

II:  I'm  so  dog-tired  whenever  I  get  a  minute  off  duty  that  I 
generally  just  roll  over  and  go  to  sleep  where  I  stand,  in  my 
habit  as  I  live!  .  .  .  I'm  billeted  at  a  little  farmhouse  with  a 
manure-heap  in  the  courtyard  directly  in  front  of  the  door 
and  under  all  our  windows.  The  hospital  is  in  some  munici- 
pal buildings  —  can't  be  more  explicit.  As  it  is  the  Boches 
come  over  and  drop  a  bomb  in  our  neighborhood  once  in  a 
while.  Red  Crosses  and  other  hospital  signs  are  nothing  to 
them;  they'd  just  as  lief  take  a  shot  at  a  hospital  as  at  a 
battery  of  75 's  —  much  rather,  in  fact,  because  the  hospital 
can't  hit  back.  I  am  still  in  hopes  of  getting  even  with  them 
some  day,  I  mean  in  a  scrap  of  my  own  up  at  the  Front. 
Of  course  we're  going  to  be  even,  more  than  even!  We're 
going  to  beat  them  flat.  '  On  les  aura! '  as  these  French 
people  all  around  keep  saying.  But  I'd  like  to  beat  one 
German  flat,  all  by  myself.  ...  I  am  regularly  enrolled,  but 
have  been  assigned  right  along  to  this  nursing-duty,  or  the 
kitchen,  or  stretcher-bearing;  that's  the  way  they  use  the 
kind  of  fellow  I  am.  It's  all  right,  and  I  don't  resent  it, 
because  it  saves  some  fit  man  for  the  real  work  in  the 
trenches.  At  first  the  wounded  were  pretty  bad,  but  one  gets 
used  to  it.  And  when  I  saw  those  Red  Cross  women  nurses 
standing  up  to  it,  the  most  horrible  things,  intestinal  wounds, 
things  you  can't  speak  of  —  I  say  when  I  saw  those  un- 
flinching women,  it  made  me  so  ashamed  I  took  a  brace. 
The  women  are  wonderful  anyway;  what  do  they  want  to 
vote  for,  when  they  can  do  so  much  that's  more  worth  while? 
.  .  .  Lots  of  Americans  over  here,  some  of  them  flying,  some 
ambulancing.  When  do  you  suppose  the  U.  S.  will  get  into 
the  fight?  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

WE  re-elected  a  President  the  fall  of  that  year,  moved 
thereto,  so  many  people  thought,  by  the  argument 
set  forth  in  a  catch-phrase  of  wide  circulation 
that  He  Kept  Us  Out  of  the  War.  Lawson  Rudd,  of  the 
Rudd  Chemical  Company,  voted  for  the  opposing  candidate, 
maybe  from  habit  —  being  an  Ohio  man,  a  native  Republi- 
can —  and  maybe  out  of  some  unformulated  conviction  that 
to  have  kept  us  out  of  the  war  was  not  so  creditable  a  pro- 
ceeding after  all.  The  Rudd  Company  was  reported  to  have 
earned  fabulous  amounts  of  money  the  last  twelvemonth, 
mainly  in  foreign  commerce ;  but  the  risks  and  uncertainties 
of  foreign  commerce  were  increasing  day  by  day,  and  per- 
haps Lawson  thought  that  hi»  chemical  products  might  well 
have  been  kept  at  home  to  serve  prospective  needs  of  our 
own.  He  had  become  a  strong- voiced  advocate  of  both  con- 
servation and  preparedness;  and  warmly  commended  the 
son-in-law  for  going  up  to  Plattsburg  to  take  military 
training  during  August  and  September. 

George  himself  displayed  little  enthusiasm  about  it;  any- 
thing was  better  than  staying  at  home  all  alone,  he  said 
glumly.  But  George  had  grown  to  be  rather  morose  and 
uncompanionable  and  difficult  to  please  of  late,  in  contrast 
to  the  genial,  easy-going  chap  he  used  to  be;  people  remarked 
the  change  and  speculated  upon  it  not  too  charitably,  it  is 
to  be  feared.  "  He's  not  drinking.  It's  not  that,  anyhow," 
Mr.  Rudd  said  to  his  daughter  Edith,  in  discussing  the  young 
Stillmans,  with  a  troubled  brow.  '^  I  believe  that's  been 
hinted  around,  but  it's  not  so.  I'm  pretty  confident  in  my 
judgment  about  drinking  men.  It's  much  more  likely  to  be 
overwork ;  these  times  are  a  good  deal  of  a  strain  on  every- 
body. I  feel  it  myself;  we  all  do.  We're  all  nervous  and 
strung  up,  in  our  different  ways." 

"  Hester  isn't,"  said  Edith,  smiling  coolly.     "  Hester  is 

269 


270  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

perfectly  serene.  She  was  just  saying  the  other  day  that 
you  and  Mr.  Stillman  had  made  so  much  money  out  of  the 
War  that  you  wouldn't  have  anything  to  worry  about  the 
rest  of  your  lives,  and  wasn't  it  wonderful?  Too  good  to  be 
true!  " 

Her  father  did  not  answer.  There  had  been  times  before 
—  perhaps  many  times  —  when  certain  aspects  of  his  wife 
and  Hester  had  caused  him  a  kind  of  leaden-heartedness. 
He  combated  it  by  telling  himself  that  they  were  only 
women;  that  all  women  were  'Mike  that."  They  didn't 
understand;  it  was  not  fair  to  expect  them  to  understand, 
and  hopeless  to  try  to  put  understanding  into  them;  let 
them  continue  in  their  diverting  and  harmless  practices  and 
ways  of  thought.  Now  he  found  himself  repeating  these 
familiar  arguments  on  behalf  of  Hester,  but  with  conscious 
insecurity.  For  there  sat  Edith,  a  living  proof  that  all 
women  were  not  "  like  that."  He  even  fancied  he  could 
detect  a  note  of  lazy  satire  in  her  rendition  of  Hester's 
views. 

"  Edith,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  Do  you  suppose  that  that  is 
really  all  that  Hester  thinks  about  the  War?  That  it's  been 
a  wonderful  opportunity  for  us  to  make  money?  Do  you 
suppose  that  is  the  only  way  it  touches  her?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  haven't  heard  her  say  anything  else 
about  it,"  said  Edith.  "  Hester  is  very  literal,  very  direct, 
you  know,  Dad,"  she  said,  not  unkindly;  "I'm  sure  she 
doesn't  want  anybody  to  suffer;  she  would  rather  have 
everything  pleasant  and  happy.  But  as  long  as  the  War  is 
going  to  go  on,  anyhow  —  "  Edith  lifted  one  shoulder  slightly 
—  "I  suppose  she  thinks  it's  lucky  that  someone  can  get 
some  good  out  of  it." 

"  I  see,"  said  Lawson.  But  he  was  in  truth  trying  not  to 
see,  trying  to  hide  from  himself  something  that  repelled  him 
intolerably. 

It  was  at  the  New  York  hotel  where  the  family  were  in 
the  habit  of  stopping  that  this  talk  took  place.  Lawson  and 
Mrs.  Lawson  had  just  come  down  from  "  Journey's  End  "; 
Hester,  for  whom  Plattsburg  or  the  resorts  in  its  vicinity 
had  no  attractions,  as  it  seemed,  had  spent  her  summer  be- 
tween Newport,  Bar  Harbor  and  the  paternal  roof,  and  after 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  271 

the  stay  in  New  York  for  the  imperative  duty  of  shopping, 
would  be  going  on  to  Hot  Springs.  George  was  coming  from 
camp;  the  Stillmans  were  in  town,  too.  It  would  be  quite 
a  family  party;  and  was  probably  looked  forward  to,  by  all 
hands,  with  the  peculiarly  tepid  enthusiasm  which  family 
parties  commonly  inspire.  Edith,  going  up  to  see  them  late 
in  the  afternoon,  found  only  her  father;  but  presently  the 
two  ladies  came  in,  sparkling  and  exultant  from  a  round  of 
the  shops,  with  tales  of  the  most  distracting  uncertainties 
between  purchases,  frequently  solved  by  the  decision  to 
''  take  both  and  be  done  with  it!  " 

"Fifteen  hundred  for  the  mink  set  and  eighteen  for  the 
ermine  —  and  Hester  simply  could  not  make  up  her  mind! 
I  said:  'Only  three  hundred  dollars'  difference,  why  don't 
you  have  the  ermine,  since  you  haven't  anything  suitable  for 
evening  wear?  '  But  she  kept  on  hesitating  and  hesitating, 
and  finally  there  didn't  seem  to  be  any  way  out  of  it  except 
to  have  them  both ;  because,  you  know,  she  would  have  been 
eternally  regretting  the  one  she  didn't  take.  And  one  can't 
have  too  many  sets  of  furs,  anyhow;  they  are  always  such  a 
wise  purchase." 

''  Then  after  that,  we  went  to  Tiffany's,  and  oh.  Dad,  we 
found  the  most  adorable  way  to  have  Mother's  dog-collar 
made  over —  !" 

''  Well,  I  don't  know  whether  I'll  have  that  done  after  all, 
Hester,  it  will  take  so  many  more  stones.  However,  they're 
going  to  submit  designs.  But  show  them  what  we  did  get  — 
show  them  your  vanity-case  —  !  " 

Their  pleasant,  excited  voices  made  a  charming  hurly- 
burly  in  the  room;  Lawson  and  his  other  daughter  duly 
looked,  listened,  admired,  their  posture  resembling  that  of 
the  elders  around  a  Christmas-tree.  Neither  of  them  prac- 
tised a  severe  self-denial,  but  their  extravagances  acquired 
dignitv  by  being  purposeful  —  or  so  they  thought.  Hester, 
as  Edith  used  to  say  with  a  laugh,  would  go  out  to  buy  a 
bathing-suit,  and  like  as  not,  come  back  with  a  skating- 
costume!  They  did  not  shop,  she  declared,  they  flowed  in 
and  out  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  doors,  sweeping  all  manner  of 
unaccountable  things  with  them,  like  any  other  flood. 

In  a  pause  of  the  chatter,  when  Mrs.  Rudd  rang  for  tea, 


272  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

and    while    she    was    giving    the    order,    Edith    inquired: 
*'  Where's  George?  " 

There  was  a  second  of  silence,  all  of  them  looking  towards 
Hester,  who  did  not  look  at  anybody,  the  animation  suddenly 
dying  out  of  her  lovely  face.  ''  Why,  /  don't  know.  He 
must  have  got  here  by  this  time,  though." 

''  What  train  was  he  coming  on?  "  her  father  asked. 

"  Why  —  why,  one  of  those  trains  from  the  North  —  from 
the  Adirondacks,  I  suppose." 

"Didn't  he  say?" 

"  No.  Oh,  yes  —  that  is,  maybe  he  did,  but  I've  forgotten. 
I  never  can  remember  things  like  that,"  said  Hester  half 
defiantly,  half  sulkily.  There  was  another  little  pause. 
Hester  seemed  to  feel  that  it  implied  some  sort  of  criticism, 
for  she  flashed  a  suspicious  look  around.  "  What  are  you  all 
staring  that  way  for?  If  anything  had  happened,  I  should 
have  heard  long  ago.  But  I  don't  believe  anything  has. 
George  is  big  enough  to  take  care  of  himself,  I  hope,"  she 
said  sharply. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,  he's  all  right,"  said  Lawson,  think- 
ing that  she  was  secretly  anxious,  and  meaning  to  soothe 
her.  Edith  glanced  at  him  with  the  shadow  of  a  smile ;  her 
mother  looked  faintly  disturbed.  And  just  at  the  moment, 
the  elevator  clicked  discreetly  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall ; 
they  heard  footsteps,  and  in  walked  George  and  his  father. 

Without  any  dramatic  intent  on  their  part,  the  entrance, 
falling  so  pat,  took  on  a  dramatic  significance;  all  at  once 
the  sense  of  approaching  climax  descended  on  the  room. 
George  looked  lean  and  browned  and  hard  as  nails  from  his 
campaigning,  but  as  sullen  as  before;  and  old  John  was 
visibly  worried.  He  and  Lawson  had  had  luncheon  together 
that  very  day,  and  having  parted  so  recently,  now  exchanged 
only  a  nod ;  but  Mrs.  Rudd  welcomed  the  two  men  with  an 
effusion  which  her  better  taste  all  the  while  condemned. 
Somebody  must  do  something,  she  reasoned  with  a  feeling 
approaching  panic.  The  men  were  absolutely  of  no  use; 
there  were  her  husband  and  Mr.  Stillman  standing  dumb; 
there  was  George  glowering  at  Hester;  there  was  Hester  sit- 
ting, swinging  her  foot,  making  no  move  to  greet  him;  and 
finally  there  was  Edith,  silent  too,  but  self-possessed,  rather 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  273 

amused  if  one  might  judge  by  her  expression.  Yet  anybody 
could  see  that  an  explosion  of  some  sort  was  imminent.  Poor 
Mrs.  Lawson  gallantly  cast  herself  single-handed  into  the 
breach.  i 

"  Mr.  Stillman !  How  lovely !  I  was  so  sorry  we  missed 
you  to-day!  However,  I  daresay  you  and  Lawson  had  a 
much  better  time  without  us!  George!  Here  you  are  at 
last!  We  were  just  talking  about  you.  Hester  was  just 
saying  —  " 

*' We  were  just  talking  about  Hester  —  Father  and  I," 
said  George,  not  pleasantly. 

"  Oh,  were  you?  "  said  Hester,  also  not  pleasantly.  Thus 
did  the  Stillman  couple  greet  each  other  after  a  separation 
of  weeks.  Mrs.  Rudd  cruised,  resolutely  smiling,  past  these 
speeches  like  a  ship  in  a  reef-strewn  channel. 

"  Isn't  Clara  with  you?  Why  didn't  you  bring  Clara?  " 
she  pressed  them  fervently.  "  We've  missed  each  other  two 
or  three  times  —  so  busy  always  in  New  York,  you  know  — 
so  much  to  do!  But  I  did  hope  to  see  Clara  this  afternoon, 
at  any  rate.  I  do  wish  she  had  come !  "  It  was  the  solemn 
truth;  never  before  in  her  life  had  Mrs.  Lawson  desired  to 
see  Clara  so  earnestly;  Clara,  in  these  circumstances,  would 
have  been  as  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land. 
The  younger  Stillmans,  whatever  they  did,  would  not  let 
anything  happen  in  Clara's  presence!  Mrs.  Lawson  tele- 
graphed appealingly  to  Edith,  who  actually  did  bestir  her- 
self a  little  in  response. 

''  You're  looking  fine,  George!  "  she  said  cordially.  "  Why 
are  we  all  standing  up?  Won't  you  sit  here,  Mr.  Stillman? 
We're  going  to  have  some  tea  presently.  Not  that  that  is 
much  of  a  temptation  to  you,  I  know,"  she  interpolated 
good-humoredly.  "  But  you  can  have  a  stick  in  yours,  if 
you  like.    It's  not  half  bad  that  way." 

*'  Thanks,  I  guess  I  don't  want  anything  to  drink,  Edith," 
said  old  John.  But  he  did  sit  down;  everybody  sat  down, 
the  assemblage  thereby  momentarily  assuming  a  specious  air 
of  sociability  like  any  ordinary  informal  gathering.  Mrs. 
Rudd  breathed  more  freely;  she  would  have  breathed  with 
entire  freedom,  in  fact,  if  only  Hester  had  not  continued  so 
dangerously  nonchalant.     George,  to  be  sure,  was  lowering 

T 


274  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

still,  and  the  other  men  were  still  uneasy ;  but  you  can  always 
manage  men,  they're  so  afraid  of  hurting  you  somehow, 
thought  the  experienced  lady  not  without  contempt;  whereas 
other  women —  ! 

"  Had  a  good  time,  George?  "  said  Lawson. 

"  Good  enough.    They  kept  us  busy." 

"  Well,  that  — that  did  you  good,  no  doubt.  That's  what 
you  went  for,"  said  Lawson,  mechanically  keeping  his 
tongue  going  while  he  sought  some  better  inspiration.  He 
was  not  skilled  at  the  double  performance  which  any  wonian 
can  conduct  with  ease;  Edith' viewed  it  with  perceptible 
enjoyment,  but  his  wife  intervened,  scenting  catastrophe. 

''  Exercise  —  fresh  air  —  "  she  murmured.  ''  It  must  have 
been  ideal  —  " 

George  cut  her  short,  getting  up  again  with  a  rough  move- 
ment. "  Oh,  what's  the  use  of  our  all  talking  around  as  if 
nothing  was  the  matter?  "  he  demanded,  in  a  loud  and  hard 
voice.    ''  You  all  know.    I'm  sick  and  tired  of  it!  " 

"  He  means  he's  sick  and  tired  of  7ne! ''  Hester  explained 
to  the  rest,  with  ostentatious  patience. 

''  Well  then,  I  am! "  shouted  out  George.  "  If  you'd  act 
right  —  if  you'd  act  the  way  a  man's  wife  ought  to  —  !  But 
you've  worn  me  out.  Damn  it,  there's  not  another  nian  in  the 
country  that  would  have  stood  what  I  have,  stood  it  as  long 
without  saying  anything  —  " 

''  Hold  up,  son!  "  interposed  old  John,  heavily.  ''  If  you 
keep  on,  you'll  say  something  you'll  be  sorry  for  the  rest  of 
your  life."  He  turned  towards  his  old  friend.  "  Lawson, 
we've  been  talking  about  this;  we've  talked  about  it  before; 
but  we  were  talking  again  as  we  came  along  to-day.  I've 
tried  to  reason  with  him.  I  thought  if  you'd  talk  to 
Hester—" 

''  Oh,  reason!  "  said  George  savagely. 

"  Oh,  talk! "  ejaculated  Hester,  with  an  hysterical  imita- 
tion of  a  laugh. 

"  W^hat  has  Hester  done,  George?  "  said  Lawson. 

"  Done?  Oh,  mercy,  what  haven't  I  done?  I've  done 
everything! ''  cried  Hester,  in  shrill  irony.  ''  Oh,  I'm  per- 
fectly terrible!  " 

"  Please,  not  so  loud,  Hester,  please! ''  her  mother  im- 
plored. "  It's  —  it's  not  nice!  " 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  2?5 

This  argument,  notwithstanding  that  it  was  the  weightiest 
poor  Mrs.  Lawson  knew,  might  not  have  availed  much,  but 
for  a  timely  reinforcement,  namely :  the  arrival  of  a  servant 
with  the  tea,  which  acted  upon  the  angry  voices,  the  red, 
excited  faces  like  a  charm.  Ever>^body  was  silent  while  the 
man  rapidly  and  skilfully  disposed  his  tray  upon  the  table; 
and  being  a  well-trained  menial,  he  himself  was  not  only 
dumb  but  deaf  and  blind  to  boot,  until  Mr.  Rudd  felt  in  a 
trouser-pocket!  After  that  little  ceremony,  he  slid  out  of 
the  room,  closing  the  door  with  disciplined  noiselessness ; 
the  silence  lasted  yet  an  instant. 

Mrs.  Rudd  began  to  arrange  herself  at  the  tea-service  in 
a  desperate  effort  to  restore  the  ancient  sanctuary  of  con- 
vention. It  was  pathetic  and  admirable  to  witness.  "  Now 
won't  you  all  have  somethingf  Mr.  Stillman,  a  sandwich, 
anyhow,  even  if  you  don't  care  for  tea?  They  look  delicious. 
Edith,  one  lump?    I've  forgotten  how  you  take  yours!  " 

''  Just  a  minute,  Lucille!  "  said  her  husband,  scrupulously 
courteous  to  her,  as  always.  He  had  taken  advantage  of  the 
lull  to  reassemble  his  forces,  as  it  were;  the  initial  outbreak 
had  been  so  sudden,  so  violent  as  to  shake  even  Lawson  out 
of  his  habitual  readiness  and  steadiness.  "  Just  a  minute.  I 
don't  think  anybody  cares  for  anything  just  now."  He 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  young  people.  "  Let's 
have  this  all  out  first — " 

They  accepted  the  invitation  simultaneously! 

"  Mr.  Rudd,  she  —  "  George  interrupted. 

"  Father,  he  —  "  Hester  began,  stormily. 

''  One  at  a  time,  now  —  that's  how  we'll  get  to  the  bottom 
of  this,"  said  Lawson  with  all  the  persuasive  authority  at  his 
command.  ''  You  haven't  been  getting  along.  Well,  when 
two  people  don't  get  along,  it's  almost  always  the  fault  of 
both,  isn't  it?  One  can't  make  the  trouble  all  by  himself  — 
or  herself,"  he  interlined  somewhat  hastily.  "  I'd  like  to  hear 
o?^;h  side  separately.  And  maybe  you'd  better  hear  each 
other  —  listen  to  each  other,  I  mean." 

"I  told  'em  all  that,  too,"  said  the  older  Stillman 
resignedly.  "  I  suggested  that  there  might  be  misunder- 
standings. Why,  the  best  of  friends  have  misunderstand- 
ings, let  alone  husbands  and  wives!  "  said  John,  guiltless  of 
satirical  intent.    He  shook  his  head.    ''  No  use!  " 


276  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  We  haven't  had  any  misunderstandings,"  said  George, 
scowling.    *'  I've  been  made  to  understand,  that's  all!  " 

"  You  see  how  he  is,"  said  Hester,  appealing  —  to  the  other 
men,  not  to  her  mother  and  sister !  —  for  sympathy. 

Lawson  surveyed  them  both  with  a  sensation  of  helpless- 
ness such  as  he  had  never  known  till  that  moment.  ''  What 
has  Hester  done,  George?  "  he  repeated.  "  Just  what  is  the 
matter.  And  then,  Hester,  you  can  tell  me  what  George  has 
done,"  he  finished,  with  an  eye  on  her,  which  in  childish 
days,  Hester  had  been  wont  to  heed;  now  she  only  pouted 
and  looked  aside. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  talk  about  it,"  said  the  young  man  fiercely 
and  miserably.  But  in  spite  of  that  declaration,  he  went  on 
talking  about  it,  all  the  while  aware  unhappily  that  the 
arraignment  amounted  to  nothing ;  it  was  only  an  incoherent 
protest  against  an  injustice  which  no  one  but  he  himself 
could  feel.  "  She  ought  to  stay  with  me,  and  she  keeps  going 
away.  Lots  of  the  men  up  at  camp  had  their  wives  staying 
around  somewhere  so  as  to  be  near  them.  She  could  have 
come  —  but  she  wouldn't.  She  never  does  go  anywhere 
with  me  —  " 

"Well,  you  go  such  horrid  places,"  Hester  interrupted. 
"  Like  that  nasty  Nova  Scotia.  All  mosquito-y  and  never  any 
bathroom  to  myself.  I  don't  like  places  like  that.  I  don't 
see  why  I  should  have  to  go  there."  She  appealed  again  to 
the  older  men.    "  Why  shouldn't  he  go  somewhere  I  like?  " 

"  I  do,  I  have !  I've  done  everything  she's  ever  asked  me ! 
I've  done  my  best  —  " 

"  If  you  shout  that  way,  George,  they'll  hear  all  over  this 
floor,"  Edith  counselled  calmly ;  her  voice  was  like  a  dash  of 
cold  water ;  but  the  conflagration  —  to  continue  the  figure  — 
was  too  well  under  way  now  to  be  extinguished  even  by  a 
deluge  of  prudent  advice. 

"  Now  she's  determined  to  go  to  Hot  Springs,  and  I  want 
her  to  come  home  and  stay  home  with  me  and  she  won't  do 
it.    She  doesn't  care  for  me  —  " 

"  I  suppose  you  think  you're  acting  in  a  way  to  make  me 
care  for  you,"  said  Hester,  in  silver-tongued  sarcasm.  She 
regained  her  self-command  in  proportion  as  poor  George  lost 
his. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  277 

"  It  wouldn't  make  any  difference  how  I  acted.  You  don't 
care  for  anybody.  You  —  you  haven't  any  heart,  you  —  oh, 
what's  the  use!  "  He  flung  down  before  the  others  what 
seemed  to  him  the  utter  outrage;  there  was  a  proof,  at  least, 
there  was  something  they  could  understand.  "  Why,  she 
cried  more  over  that  cat  of  hers  that  died  than  for  her  own 
baby  —  our  baby !    She  felt  worse !  " 

"Well,  but  the  baby  was  so  little  —  only  a  month  old. 
It  didn't  know  anything,"  said  Hester  reasonably.  '^  I'd  had 
Dingbats  ever  so  long,  and  he  was  so  dear!  "  Her  lips 
quivered.    "  He  had  the  dearest  ways!  " 

"  And  now  she  doesn't  want  any  more  children.  She's 
afraid,  or  she  thinks  they'd  be  too  much  care,  or  something. 
I  suppose  it  would  interfere  with  her  running  around  and 
having  a  good  time.  That's  the  kind  of  wife  she  is,"  said 
George  bitterly. 

''  Oh,  it's  all  very  well  for  you  to  talk!  As  if  you  had  any 
of  it  to  go  through —  "  Hester  began;  they  were  evidently 
upon  a  familiar  source  of  discord.  But  Edith  now  took  a 
hand,  to  the  vast  relief  of  the  older  generation  present,  who, 
as  has  been  hinted  heretofore,  could  not  get  accustomed  to 
this  up-to-date  frankness. 

"  What  all  this  comes  to  is  just  what  Dad  started  out 
with,"  she  said  judicially.  "  You  aren't  getting  along. 
Now,  then,  what  do  you  want  to  do  about  it?  Get 
divorced?  " 

Put  baldly  thus,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  thing  had  an 
unhandsome  sound;  it  gave  them  all  pause.  ^'  I  want  her  to 
act  right,  that's  all.  We  —  we  haven't  got  anything  to  be 
divorced  about,"  said  George  after  a  minute,  calming  down 
now  that  his  wrongs,  such  as  they  were,  had  been  stated. 
They  waited  for  Hester,  who  however  sat  looking  down 
sulkily,  and  would  not  reply.  It  was  indeed  impossible  to 
guess  whether  the  suggestion  satisfied,  offended  or  frightened 
her;  whether  she  was  startled  and  confused  by  it,  or 
with  feminine  caution,  would  not  commit  herself  for  or 
against. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  want  to  do  —  or  you  can't 
make  up  your  mind?  "  said  Edith.  "  Well,  one  or  other 
of  you  will  have  to  start  proceedings  —  in  court,  you  know, 


278  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

it's  all  very  tiresome.    I  don't  believe  George  wants  to  —  ?  " 
She  looked  towards  him  interrogatively. 

"  We  haven't  got  anything  to  get  a  divorce  for,"  he 
grumbled  again;  ''  if  she'd  act  right  —  if  she'd  stay  with  me 
and  —  and  —  " 

Edith  waited  patiently,  but  as  usual  with  those  who  ex- 
pended their  eloquence  upon  her,  George  presently  found 
himself  without  another  word,  with  scarcely  an  idea,  even! 
That  steadfast  attention  fairly  fettered  the  mind. 

'^  Then  you  won't  make  any  move?  "  said  Edith  at  last. 
''  Very  well,  neither  will  Hester.  She's  not  going  to  try  for 
a  divorce." 

Hester  flared  up  again  at  this  cavalier  announcement. 
"  You  got  one,  Edith!  "  she  snapped  out. 

"  That,  I  suppose,  is  just  what  put  it  into  your  head," 
said  Edith  unmoved.  "  You  want  to  get  into  the  limelight, 
too.  It's  not  a  very  agreeable  place  to  be,  however;  you 
wouldn't  like  it,  Hester.  Being  divorced  isn't  pretty,  before 
or  afterwards.  You'd  get  tired  of  it  very  soon,  and  then 
what  would  you  do?  " 

''  Don't  be  hard  on  her,  Edith,  she's  nothing  but  a  child," 
expostulated  old  Stillman,  moved  more  by  some  steely  and 
ruthless  quality  to  be  felt  in  Edith  herself  than  by  anything 
she  said.    She  smiled. 

"  A  child  of  twenty-nine  —  or  is  it  thirty,  Hester?  " 

"  You  k-know  you're  only  s-saying  that  to  be  hateful!  " 
sobbed  Hester,  fairly  quelled.  George  made  a  movement 
towards  her  which  he  checked  in  embarrassment,  meeting 
Edith's  glacial  eye. 

"  Never  mind,  George,  Hester  won't  get  a  divorce,  and 
you'll  scuffle  along  together  well  enough,  I  daresay,  after 
she's  got  over  this  craze." 

"Well,  Edith  —  er — "  her  father  began  —  and  then 
words  failed  him  too ! 

"  We  can't  have  Hester  making  us  all  ridiculous,"  said 
his  younger  daughter  inexorably;  the  disturbing  likeness  to 
Grandfather  David  Rudd  came  out  on  her  every  feature  as 
she  spoke.  "  People  would  be  saying  that  divorces  were 
contagious  or  ran  in  the  family,  or  that  Hester  was  getting 
in  line,  and  Mother  would  be  tlie  next  —  " 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  279 

"Edith!"  cried  Mrs.  Rudd  inexpressibly  shocked. 
''Edith!'' 

"  That's  what  they  would  say.  There  would  be  all  kinds 
of  cheap  jokes  going  around.  It's  all  silliness,  and  Hester 
shan't  do  it.  One  divorce  is  enough  for  us,"  said  Edith.  And 
every  one  of  them  felt  that  the  fiat  had  gone  forth  I 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HOWEVER  high-handed  Edith's  method  of  settling 
the  differences  between  the  Stillman  couple,  every- 
one else  in  the  family  was  devoutly  thankful  to 
her;  the  end  justified  the  indefensible  means.  For  it  was  a 
settlement;  Hester  went  around  with  the  airs  of  a  martyr; 
George  went  around  with  the  airs  —  his  friends  said  —  of 
that  comic  paper  celebrity,  Old  Man  Grump;  but  neither 
one  of  them  dreamed  of  re-opening  the  divorce  question. 
Perhaps  in  their  hearts  they  were  as  glad  as  the  others  of 
Edith's  sledge-hammer  decision;  there  is  a  certain  peace  in 
defeat.  As  for  that  young  sister  to  Solomon,  she  never 
added  another  word  to  her  ultimatum;  she  was  instinctively 
aware  of  the  weakening  effect  of  words.  She  went  serenely 
about  her  business,  and  her  unquestioning  self-confidence, 
which  was  not  without  a  hint  of  disdain,  somehow  enforced 
obedience. 

She  did  indeed  give  some  account  of  the  affair  and  of  her 
own  despotic  intervention  to  her  brother,  flavored  with 
acid  comment.  "  I  had  no  idea  till  I  came  back  from  Europe 
this  time  what  a  number  of  fools  there  were  at  large  in  our 
society.  This  divorce  craze —  !  People  over  here  make  a 
business  of  getting  married  just  to  be  divorced  afterwards," 
she  said,  with  a  cold  impatience.  "  It's  a  fashion,  it's  a 
game.  We're  always  going  to  extremes,  always  running 
things  into  the  ground.  Look  at  Hester  and  George:  what 
is  the  trouble?  There  isn't  any,  really.  She  is  restless  and 
wants  to  be  noticed.  He  has  been  over-indulgent  and  now 
he's  too  tyrannical.  It's  absolutely  childish.  Hester  is  the 
most  to  blame,  though.  Any  foreign  woman  would  think 
George  the  most  marvellous  husband  that  ever  happened; 
she  wouldn't  understand  what  Hester  was  fussing  about. 
Over  there  one  has  to  have  a  reason,  at  least.  But  they  do 
this  sort  of  thing  better  over  there,  anyhow.    I  daresay  it  i8 

280 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  281 

because  their  society  is  so  old;  they've  seen  everything, 
they've  done  everything,  they've  known  everything;  they've 
been  at  it  a  thousand  years.  It's  all  a  kind  of  grand  novelty 
to  us;  we're  wild  to  try  it.  That  is,  women  like  Hester  are. 
I'm  not,  and  never  was.  I  like  people  to  be  decent  —  and  I 
was  the  one  to  have  indecency  forced  on  me!  I  believe  Hes- 
ter envies  me  the  experience.  She  has  an  idea  it  must  have 
been  thrilling  to  be  at  the  centre  of  a  scandal,  and  to  set 
everybody  talking  about  you.  What  w^ould  poor  little  Hester 
have  done  in  my  place,  though?  What  would  dozens  of 
these  other  women  that  go  running  around  doing  anything 
and  everything  they  can  think  of  to  attract  publicity?  If 
they  only  knew,  it  wasn't  splendid  and  it  wasn't  romantic 
the  least  bit;  it  was  a  dull  dirty  business.  What  do  people 
over  here  want  to  go  into  that  sort  of  thing  for?  It  doesn't 
suit  us;  Americans  are  naturally  respectable.  But  let  me 
tell  you,  Steve,  I  think  w^e're  all  due  for  a  good  shaking-up 
some  day,  and  if  the  War  comes  over  on  this  side  we're  going 
to  get  it.  We'll  have  to  stop  thinking  about  ourselves  for  a 
while." 

In  the  meanwhile  she  had  foimd  an  outlet  for  the  restless- 
ness w^hich,  as  Edith  herself  would  acknowledge  with  cynical 
humor,  beset  her  as  persistently  as  it  beset  the  rest  of  the 
women.  She  was  working  on  a  number  of  charitable  com- 
mittees: Devastated  Belgium  —  the  French  Orphaned  and 
Homeless  —  Persecuted  Armenia  —  Servian  Victims  of  the 
War  —  Polish  Relief,  and  so  on.  There  was  no  lack  of 
opportunities  to  serve  one's  fellow-man;  and  Edith  wdth  her 
energy,  common-sense  and  thoroughness  would  have  been  the 
most  popular,  but  for  possessing  the  defects  of  those  quali- 
ties. She  displayed  entirely  too  much  initiative,  too  much 
foresight,  -was  too  given  to  short-cuts  that  disregarded  red 
tape  and  precedent;  she  cared  not  a  jot  for  approval,  much 
less  applause.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  she  was  almost 
invariably  justified  by  the  outcome;  she  had  an  instinct  for 
the  expedient  measure,  the  direct  way;  and  people  can  over- 
look any  fault  except  that  of  being  incessantly  in  the  right. 
However,  she  worked  on,  armored  in  her  indifference,  with 
her  eyes  on  the  goal  which  she  never  failed  to  reach,  no  mat- 
ter whose  feelings  and  prejudices  she  overrode  by  the  way. 


282  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

It  naturally  fell  to  her  to  do  all  the  disagreeable  things,  to 
tell  all  the  disagreeable  truths,  jobs  which  she  carried 
through  as  impersonally  and  impartially  as  every  other  job 
assigned  her. 

As  all  over  the  country  Society  does  the  same  thing,  Mrs. 
Rudd  and  all  her  circle  in  her  Ohio  city  were  furiously  con- 
ducting good  works  also,  that  is  to  say,  charity  balls,  charity 
theatrical  performances,  charity  art-exhibitions,  charity 
bridge-tournaments,  dog-shows,  rummage-sales.  It  is  safe 
to  say  that  more  money  was  spent  promoting  these  philan- 
thropic enterprises  than  ever  was  realized  from  them;  but 
what  of  that?  No  harm  can  possibly  be  done  by  getting 
people  into  the  habit  of  giving,  whether  of  their  money  or 
time  or  labor  or  mere  good-will.  Mrs.  Lawson  Rudd  was  on 
the  list  of  patronesses  for  a  score  of  entertainments;  she 
personally  bore  hundreds  of  dollars'  worth  of  expenses;  she 
nobly  made  the  acquaintance  of  women  to  whom  she  had 
never  spoken  before,  yea,  she  invited  nobodies  to  her  house 
(for  board  meetings)  and  smiled  upon  social  climbers  and 
poured  tea  for  them!  It  was  heroic.  Mrs.  George  Stillman 
did  her  part,  too;  she  paid  Mademoiselle  Mantegna,  the  little 
Italian  instructor  in  toe-dancing  at  Matson's  Academy, 
thirty  dollars  to  teach  her  that  Egyptian  dance  she  per- 
formed at  the  Benefit  of  the  Fatherless  Croats,  and  five 
hundred  more  to  the  New  York  artist  who  designed  and  exe- 
cuted her  costume.  This  is  to  cite  only  two  out  of  the  many, 
many  instances  of  disinterested  benevolence. 

The  head  of  the  Rudd  Chemical  Company  was  down  for 
a  round  sum  on  all  the  subscription-lists,  like  everybody  else. 
Lawson  had  always  been  a  liberal  man.  "  This  is  a  worthy 
charity,  Mr.  Rudd,"  some  petitioner  once  said  to  him  in 
recommendation.  ''  There  aren't  any  unworthy  ones,  Mr. 
So-and-so,"  said  Lawson,  filling  out  his  cheque.  If  he  gave 
more  nowadays,  quite  unheard-of  sums,  in  fact,  it  was  be- 
cause he  was  making  more;  in  mediaeval  times  he  might 
have  built  a  chapel,  or  endowed  an  abbey.  The  profits  of  the 
business  were  fair;  it  was  not  Lawson's  fault  that  they  were 
increased  by  a  barbarous  necessity;  the  War  with  its  mon- 
strous demands,  was  none  of  his  making.  Then  why  did  his 
contributions  assume  to  him,  against  his  will,  the  guise  of 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  283 

conscience-money.  Elihu  Rudd  gave  in  amounts  propor- 
tionate to  his  recent  gains,  too;  Elihu  was  an  honest  and 
right- feeling  man  —  in  the  main.  But  we  may  believe  that 
he  was  not  troubled  by  the  recollection  of  the  first  Rudd's 
transgressions,  nor  did  the  Pancurata  and  the  Metaderma 
ever  break  up  a  night's  rest  for  Elihu.  When  all's  said  and 
done,  why  should  they?  His  younger  brother  was  of  a 
slightly  different  mould. 

All  that  winter,  there  was  a  sentiment  in  favor  of  France 
and  Great  Britain  growing  and  gaining  strength  over  the 
country;  the  keep-out-of-the-War  motto,  having  served  its 
purpose,  had  been  cast  aside.  And  it  may  be  said  that  those 
who  had  enlisted  our  dislike,  had  no  one  but  themselves  to 
thank  for  it.  The  average  American  may  love  to  be  hum- 
bugged, but  he  exacts  that  the  humbugging  be  well  executed, 
a  fine  bit  of  work;  lo,  the  Teutonic  humbug  was  the  abso- 
lute reverse;  mortal  man  never  invented  trickery  so 
obvious  and  so  stupid.  It  offended  the  national  vanity,  even 
while  it  aroused  the  national  sense  of  humor,  a  more  formid- 
able element  of  this  race's  motley  composition  than  many 
outsiders  are  aware.  The  country  was  getting  restive,  sus- 
picious, testy.  If  the  German  agents,  open  and  secret,  were 
active  amongst  us,  their  activities  were  set  off  by  those  of 
the  avowed  apostles  of  the  Allied  cause  who  came  frankly, 
without  lies,  without  bribes,  not  essaying  to  preach  or  teach, 
simply  telling  the  truth.  They  talked,  they  wrote,  they 
showed  proofs.  Society,  in  all  its  ramifications  crowded  to 
see  and  hear  them;  the  women's  clubs  listened  with  shrink- 
ing flesh ;  the  big  ball-rooms  of  fashionable  hotels  resounded 
to  the  plain  eloquence  of  their  facts.  Mrs.  Lawson  Rudd 
and  other  ladies  of  suitable  means  entertained  them  one 
after  another:  Madame  la  Baronne  de  Hautlieu,  His  Grace 
the  Bishop  of  Bath  and  Chelsea,  Mr.  Algernon  Sydney- 
Dysart  of  the  British  Commission,  to  name  a  few  of  the  most 
elevated.  The  lesser  sort  went  to  hotels  or  were  looked  after 
by  committees  from  the  various  organizations  which  had 
invited  them  here. 

Among  the  last  was  one  whose  name,  duly  advertised  on 
all  the  hoardings,  with  pictures  of  him  in  a  Sam  Brown  belt 
holding  the  little  Malacca  baton  English  army-ofiicers  affect 


284  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

between  the  artificial  fingers  of  the  artificial  right  hand  he 
was  reported  to  use  so  skilfully,  caused  some  sensation  in 
the  Rudd  family.  This  was  Colonel  Sir  John  Geoffrey 
Chandos  Dulaney;  he  had  been  only  Captain  Dulaney  in 
the  diplomatic  service,  the  second  cousin  of  some  minor 
English  baronet,  when  they  knew  him  years  before  in  Wash- 
ington. In  those  days  he  was  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey,  with 
a  pedigree  that  went  back  to  Hengist  and  Horsa,  and  no 
more  expectation  of  succeeding  to  the  title  and  estates  than 
the  man  in  the  moon.  Now  four  or  five  stout  Dulaneys  had 
come  back  —  or  perhaps  had  not  come  back  —  from  Flan- 
ders and  the  Dardanelles  to  lie  in  the  little  ancient  Suffolk 
churchyard.  John  Geoffrey  himself  had  left  a  good  arm  at 
Passchendaele ;  and  here  he  was,  gray-headed  before  his 
time,  with  his  lined  face,  with  his  patient  resolute  eyes,  going 
up  and  down,  telling  the  truth  from  fifty  platforms  a  week 
to  whomsoever,  in  this  careless  and  comfortable  United 
States,  chose  to  hear  it. 

''  Do  you  suppose  Edith  met  him?  Of  course  he  landed  in 
New  York;  she  must  know  he  is  in  this  country,"  Mrs.  Rudd 
said.    "  She  meets  almost  all  of  them.    I  do  wonder  if  they 

met." 

Her  husband  detected  the  note  of  unusual  mterest  with- 
out at  all  understanding  it  —  so  dense  is  the  masculine  in- 
telligence. ''  Oh,  very  likely,"  he  said,  callously  consuming 
potage  printaniere.  "  Why?  What's  he  done?  Is  he  out  of 
the  ordinary  run?  They  aren't  invariably  interesting,  and 
their  experiences  are  a  good  deal  alike.  But  Dulaney  used 
to  come  to  the  house  that  winter  you  and  the  girls  were  in 
Washington,  by  the  way,  didn't  he?  Seems  to  me  I  recol- 
lect—"  .^     ^ 

''  Lawson,  he  was  very  attentive  to  Edith,"  said  Mrs. 
Lawson  impressively.  ''  Come  to  the  house?  Why,  he  fairly 
lived  with  us  for  a  while  —  until  she  refused  him.  At  least, 
I  suppose  she  refused  him,  Edith's  so  reserved  you  never  can 
get  any  satisfaction  out  of  her.  But  he  all  at  once  stopped 
coming,  and  that's  rather  pointed.  I  should  think  you  would 
have  remembered." 

''  I  couldn't  keep  a  card-index  of  the  young  men  that 
came  to  the  house,  what  with  Hester's  and  Edith's  both. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  285 

And  besides  I  wasn't  with  you  three-fourths  of  the  time,"  he 
offered  in  exculpation.  ''  Well,  if  they  did  meet,  again,  what 
of  it?  " 

The  lady  surveyed  him.  "  Oh,  nothing  —  nothing  at  all. 
I  was  only  wondering." 

A  few  days  later,  Mr.  Rudd  was  not  surprised,  coming 
home  in  the  waning  afternoon  to  see  a  man's  calling-card, 
though  nowadays  that  was  a  sufficiently  rare  object  with 
them,  among  the  mail  on  the  console  in  his  hall,  nor  to  hear 
the  servant  murmur,  bearing  away  his  coat:  "  Colonel 
Dulaney  is  here,  sir.  Mrs.  Rudd  says  will  you  step  into  the 
morning-room?  " 

Lawson  went  accordingly  into  the  little  bright,  cushioned, 
chintz-y  place;  there  w^as  a  fire  burning  in  deference  to  the 
evening  chill  of  these  early  spring  days,  and  a  high  silver 
vase  of  jonquils  on  the  tea-table;  his  wife  looked  very  pretty 
and  animated  and  well-preserved  over  the  cups  and  saucers. 
The  tall  English  officer  with  a  monocle  in  his  eye  got  up  and 
put  out  his  left  hand  and  spoke  Lawson's  name  and  his  own, 
amiling. 

"  Mr.  Rudd !  I  —  aw  —  don't  know  whether  you  remem- 
ber me?    Aw  —  Dulaney." 

"Good  Lord,  he  looks  twenty  years  older!"  ejaculated 
Lawson  inwardly;  he  would  not  have  known  him.  It  was  a 
little  awkward  shaking  his  left  hand;  Lawson  tried  not  to 
show  it,  and  not  to  look  at  the  right  which  hung  gloved  by 
Colonel  Dulaney's  side  in  a  stiff  position,  but  the  other 
caught  him  and  made  an  apology ! 

"  Awf 'ly  inconvenient,  but  my  right's  out  of  commission, 
y'know,"  he  said,  simply. 

"  Oh  yes,  we'd  —  er  —  we'd  heard  about  that,"  said  Mr. 
Rudd;  his  wife  murmured  sympathy. 

"  Everybody  seems  to  have  heard.  I  rather  fancy  your 
newspaper-men  must  have  published  something  about  it," 
said  the  colonel.  "  Most  amazin'  chaps!  I  remember  when 
I  was  over  here  before  in  nineteen-ten  —  "  He  went  on  with 
some  anecdote  about  American  newspaper-men  in  his  pleas- 
ant English  voice,  chipping  off  a  final  syllable  here  and  there. 
They  sat  and  chatted.  It  might  have  been  any  afternoon 
years  ago  in  the  Washington  drawing-room.     There  were 


286  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

half  a  dozen  fresh-faced  young  fellows  about  the  British 
Legation  in  those  days;  now  and  again  he  would  mention 
one  of  them  —  "  Poor  Gifford  got  his,  as  you  Americans  say, 
at  Mons  in  the  beginning.  Nice  fellow,  Gifford!  "  ''  March- 
banks  was  in  the  Jutland  fight.  Eh?  Oh,  yes,  on  the  Indom- 
itable, y'know.  They  picked  him  up,  but  he  died  after- 
wards." They  were  all  gone,  all  those  boys,  and  the  War 
thundered  on  above  their  graves;  and  more  and  more  were 
going  now,  this  hour,  this  moment,  while  the  fire  crackled 
behind  the  andirons,  and  the  jonquils  shone,  and  Mrs.  Rudd, 
in  delicately  rich  draperies,  dispensed  tea-biscuit;  and  their 
comrade  called  the  roll  of  the  dead  with  a  kindly  passing 
tribute.  As  an  attache  at  the  Embassy  he  had  not  given  the 
impression  of  being  a  conspicuously  brilliant  young  man; 
good  looks,  good  manners,  and  a  good  family  had  not  im- 
probably been  his  chief  recommendations  for  the  post.  Yet 
all  at  once  it  seemed  to  Lawson  Rudd  that  not  one  English- 
man but  all  England  sat  by  his  hearth,  and  without  a  word 
said,  expounded  the  creed  of  manliness,  and  loyalty  to  an 
antique  and  noble  tradition. 

''  It  makes  us  laugh  the  way  the  Germans  blow  about 
having  won  that  North  Sea  battle,"  he  said.  "  If  they  won, 
why  don't  they  come  out?  Glorious  victory !  You  English- 
men, even  if  you'd  been  beaten,  wouldn't  skulk  in  a  corner 
like  that." 

"  It — aw — doesn't  look  well,"  Colonel  Dulaney  admitted. 

"  You're  holding  your  own  so  well  here  recently  that  the 
pro- Ally  people  on  this  side  feel  very  much  encouraged." 

"  Yes,  you're  quite  all  right,  as  long  as  we  hold  on,"  said 
the  Englishman. 

"  We  aren't  all  pro- Ally,  that's  our  trouble,"  said  Lawson, 
reddening  slightly.  "  I  think  myself  that  it's  about  time  for 
us  to  get  in." 

'^  Well,  there  are  a  good  many  of  you  in,"  Dulaney  said. 
"  And  that  reminds  me  —  "  He  fumbled  with  that  brave  and 
unconsciously  pathetic  left  hand  in  the  pockets  of  his  tunic. 

"  He  saw  Edith  and  Steve  in  New  York,  Lawson  —  " 

"  Yes,  I  —  aw  —  met  Mrs.  Gherardi  at  a  reception  that 
was  given  us.  And  afterwards  I  took  a  little  time  off  be- 
tween    speechifying  —  like     this,     y'know  —  and  —  aw  — 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  287 

dropped  in  at  her  apartment,"  tlie  colonel  explained  —  and 
to  Mrs.  Lawson's  active  imagination,  a  little  additional  red 
came  up  in  his  face.  Sir  John's  complexion,  to  be  truthful, 
had  weathered  to  about  the  hue  and  texture  of  saddle- 
leather,  so  that  any  change  in  the  color  of  it  would  have 
been  pretty  difficult  to  detect.  He  finally  fumbled  out  a  thin 
packet  all  over  official  stamps  and  seals  which,  however,  had 
been  already  broken,  and  handed  it  to  Lawson,  rising.  "  Mr. 
Rudd  —  your  son,  I  mean,  of  course  —  asked  me  to  give  you 
this.  It's  the  notification  —  about  the  other  Mr.  Rudd, 
y'know.  He  said  he  thought  you  would  like  to  see  it.  It 
seems  the  other  Mr.  Rudd  had  given  your  son  as  his  next  of 
kin,  so  naturally  the  company  commander  wrote  him.  They 
always  do  when  they  can  —  when  they  know  any  of  the  — 
aw  —  the  circumstances." 

"  I  see.  Thank  you,"  said  Lawson,  mechanically.  He 
took  the  packet. 

"  Vimy  Ridge  was  months  and  months  ago ;  it's  been  a  bit 
long  conaing,"  said  Dulaney  apologetically.  ''  Your  son  said 
he  didn't  get  it  till  after  the  first  of  the  year.  But  we've  had 
a  struggle  to  keep  up  the  mail  service." 

''  Oh,  I  can  understand  that!  " 

"  I  gathered  that  this  gentleman  was  not  a  very  close 
relative,"  the  Englishman  said,  evidently  feeling  that  some- 
thing further  in  the  way  of  sympathy  or  appreciation  should 
be  expressed.  ''  But  blood's  thicker  than  water.  At  any  rate, 
he  died  like  a  man  —  doin'  his  duty  —  all  that,  y'know  — 
and  none  of  us  can  do  much  better  than  that  —  eh,  what!  " 
With  which  speech  and  in  manifest  terror  of  having  said  too 
much  or  been  sentimental.  Colonel  Dulaney  rather  precipi- 
tately took  his  leave. 

''What  was  he  talking  about?  I  couldn't  quite  understand, 
and,  of  course,  I  didn't  want  to  make  him  go  all  over  it  again. 
Is  there  a  note  from  Steve?  "  Mrs.  Rudd  asked. 

''No.  It's  about  Eugene.  Edith  told  me  he  had  gone 
over  there,"  said  Lawson,  still  standing  with  the  letter  in  his 
hand,  looking  at  it  confusedly.  "  Dulaney  seemed  to  take 
it  for  granted  that  I  had  heard  already.    But  I  hadn't." 

"  Heard  what?    Anything  important?  " 

"  Why,  he's  dead.    He's  been  killed,  I  suppose." 


288  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

She  uttered  a  slight  shocked  exclamation  —  only  a  very 
slight  one!  Mrs.  Lawson  scarcely  knew  Eugene;  she  had 
all  but  forgotten  his  existence,  which,  for  that  matter,  she 
had  always  understood  to  be  of  no  moment  to  his  half- 
brothers  or  to  anybody  in  particular.  "  Oh!  What  a  pity!  " 
she  said,  and  rose,  pausing  an  instant.  "  I  ought  to  go  and 
dress.  Lawson,  you  must,  too ;  this  dinner  of  the  Gardiners' 
is  to  be  very  early.    Don't  forget!  " 

Left  alone,  Lawson  at  length  opened  the  packet,  but  even 
then  did  not  at  onoe  begin  to  read.  Instead  he  sat  for  a 
while,  staring  into  the  fire.  It  did  not  seem  possible  that 
Eugene  could  be  dead;  after  all  these  years  of  being  a  sort 
of  skeleton  in  the  Rudd  closet.  Lawson  wondered  to  dis- 
cover that  one  may  miss  even  a  family-skeleton;  the  old 
wrongs,  old  scores,  old  hateful  memories  come  to  be  a  part 
of  our  lives,  not  cancelled  without  regret.  At  any  rate,  one 
must  guard  against  thinking  ill  of  the  dead;  the  dead  who 
have  no  recourse.  There  had  been  some  good  in  Eugene  — 
a  good  deal  of  good;  plenty  of  sense,  if  he  had  but  used  it; 
not  unlikable  he  was,  too,  if  only  —  It  was  all  a  sorry 
muddle.  Now  he  had  got  his,  as  you  Americans  say.  Law- 
son  sighed  and  spread  out  the  letter.  It  was  dated  the 
summer  of  the  year  before,  and  signed  "  K.  Thompson, 
Capt."  The  writer  explained  that  the  number  of  the  regi- 
ment and  its  location,  along  with  other  intimate  details,  must 
be  withheld  as  a  measure  of  military  precaution  which  Mr. 
Rudd  would  undoubtedly  understand.  He  greatly  regretted 
having  to  report  the  death  of  Private  Eugene  Rudd  (Ambu- 
lance Squad  No.  — ,  — th  Div.)  during  an  advance  on  the 
enemy's  position.  ''  According  to  statements  made  by  two 
men  of  —  Company,  Pvts.  James  Bowers  and  F.  X.  Le- 
baudy,  as  they  were  all  three  going  forward  over  the  terrain 
just  evacuated  by  the  enemy,  but  still  under  fire,  Pvt.  Rudd 
being  several  yards  in  front  of  them  and  a  little  to  the  right, 
they  lost  sight  of  him  over  the  rim  of  a  shell-hole.  When 
they  reached  this  place,  they  saw  him  at  the  bottom  of  the 
crater,  and  also  one  of  the  enemy's  wounded,  an  officer  who 
was  crying  pitifully  for  water.  Pvt.  Rudd  had  unslung  his 
canteen,  and  was  stooping  over  to  give  him  a  drink  when  the 
German  raised  up  and  shot  him  through  the  body  twice, 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  289 

killing  him  instantly.  Bowers  and  Lebaudy  both  assert  that 
the  German  officer  was  lying  with  his  back  towards  them  in 
such  an  attitude  that  he  could  not  have  seen  them  approach- 
ing, that  he  must  have  believed  himself  to  be  alone  with 
this  one  adversary  in  the  shell-hole,  and  resorted  to  this  ruse 
as  the  safest  and  surest  way  of  despatching  him ;  and  further 
that  there  was  no  wound  whatever  on  the  body  of  the  Ger- 
man except  the  one  which  Lebaudy  (who  reached  him  first) 
made  in  running  him  through  with  his  bayonet.  It  must  be 
remembered,  however,  that  both  of  the  men  were  very  angry 
and  excited,  so  that  they  may  have  been  mistaken." 

"  Such  bodies  as  were  recovered  after  this  engagement 
have  been  buried  in  a  cemetery  near  by  and  the  graves 
marked,  Pvt.  Rudd's  among  them;  there  should  be  no  diffi- 
culty about  identifying  it  after  the  war  ..." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

LESS  than  three  weeks  after  Colonel  Dulaney's  call, 
when  that  gentleman  himself  had  not  got  as  far  West 
as  Denver  on  his  speaking  tour,  the  United  States 
declared  war  on  Germany.  Now  —  as  the  newspaper 
humorists  sardonically  pointed  out  —  was  the  time  for  that 
million  of  springers-to-arms  about  whom  a  Secretary  of 
State  —  recently  resigned  —  had  been  so  confident.  Dis- 
comfiting to  relate,  the  number  that  did  spring,  though 
creditable,  was  not  nearly  so  large;  pacifists  and 
conscientious  objectors  suddenly  came  to  the  surface  in 
every  community,  very  active  in  promulgating  their  doc- 
trines and  highly  likely  —  but  this  may  have  been  a  mere 
coincidence  —  to  be  named  Schwartz  or  Schmidt.  In  spite 
of  them,  the  recruiting  went  on;  in  spite  of  them,  conscrip- 
tion measures  were  suggested,  were  argued  over  in  Congress, 
were  passed.  The  first  Liberty  loan  was  floated;  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  were  raised  in  London,  in  Paris.  Coming  gener- 
ations will  not  be  able  to  understand  the  emotions  with  which 
their  forebears  beheld  and  took  part  in  these  events,  what 
rooted  beliefs  we  tore  up,  what  time-honored  prejudices  dis- 
carded. What  had  happened  to  us,  who,  six  months  earlier, 
had  been  gleefully  thanking  Heaven  and  one  man  for  keep- 
ing us  out  of  the  War?  If  you  had  asked  that  individual 
whose  opinions  are  so  often  referred  to,  the  Average  Man,  he 
would  have  responded  with  characteristic  American  flip- 
pancy that  he  guessed  it  was  time  to  call  Heinle's  bluff,  or 
that  every  boy  in  the  country  wanted  to  see  himself  in  those 
nifty  khaki  pants,  or  that  it  was  not  every  day  you  got  the 
chance  of  a  free  trip  to  Europe ;  yes,  he  would  have  answered 
thus  even  if  that  moment  on  his  way  to  the  recruiting-ser- 
geant! Not  for  worlds  would  he  have  acknowledged,  per- 
haps indeed  he  had  no  words  to  explain  the  urge  that 

290 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  291 

overcame  his  native  aversion  to  the  monstrous  foolishness 
of  war. 

The  Rudd  Chemical  Company,  like  every  other  industrial 
concern  throughout  the  United  States,  now  doubled  and 
trebled  its  activities;  Lawson  himself  shuttled  back  and  forth 
across  the  country,  almost  without  rest.  He  was  one  of  the 
few  men  capable  of  thinking  and  calculating  in  sums  of  such 
staggering  magnitude  as  the  times  demanded,  and  he  entered 
into  it  with  relish.  He  spent  only  two  weeks  at ''  Journey's 
End  "  that  entire  season,  and  then  his  visit  assumed  the 
aspect  of  a  devastating  natural  cataclysm  to  Mrs.  Lawson 
who  saw  their  stately  stretches  of  turf,  the  care  and  pride  of 
years,  ripped  up  and  sown  to  corn  and  potatoes,  as  a  priest 
might  have  beheld  the  desecration  of  his  temple.  The  poor 
lady  found  it  hard  to  adjust  herself  to  these  clanging  days. 
After  one  or  two  final  spasmodic  flourishes  during  the  sum- 
mer, Society  ceased  to  manifest  itself  as  an  organization  for 
leisure  and  enjoyment.  Normally  there  never  had  been 
enough  young  men  to  go  around,  and  now  there  were  none 
at  all.  They  all  went  into  the  army  at  the  first  call;  it  was 
not  necessary  to  draft  these  debonair  lads,  not  a  few  of 
whose  associates  had  been  in  France  or  England  these  three 
years  already.  Polo-players,  tennis-champions,  young  fel- 
lows in  their  junior  year  at  college,  or  just  admitted  to  the 
bar,  or  just  beginning  in  Dad's  office  —  off  they  all  went  to 
the  training-camps  and  troop-ships.  Their  sisters  began  to 
knit,  or  rolled  bandages,  or  took  courses  in  nursing  and  Red 
Cross  work;  some  even  cooked  and  gardened.  The  older 
women  were  ofiiciating  on  boards,  and  struggling  valiantly 
with  domestic  problems  that  loomed  more  menacingly  every 
day  —  every  meatless,  sugarless,  flourless  day.  Mrs.  Rudd 
— but  exactly  what  Mrs.  Rudd  and  her  type  did,  evades 
description  for  the  reason  that  these  charming  women  could 
not  learn  to  do  anything  except  be  charming.  I  am  sure 
they  tried;  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Lawson,  who  was  as  eager  as 
anybody  to  help,  believed  that  she  denied  herself  in  the  mat- 
ter of  dress  and  house-furnishings;  I  know  for  a  certainty 
that  she  had  her  automobile  re-upholstered,  and  went  with- 
out a  new  one.  She  was  forever  anxiously  explaining  her 
orders  and  purchases  on  the  theory  that  the  poor  work- 


292  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

people  must  be  encouraged,  must  have  enough  employment 
to  keep  them  in  bread.  Take  the  milliners  and  furriers,  for 
instance.  Their  circulars  were  pathetic,  the  personal  letters 
from  those  she  had  always  patronized  even  more  so;  her 
tailor  had  literally  begged  her  to  get  a  new  suit,  only  one 
new  suit,  and  save  him  from  bankruptcy ! 

''  I  spoke  to  your  father  about  it,  and  he  only  laughed  and 
said  to  rescue  Anatole  by  all  means,  the  more  solvent  people 
there  were  in  the  country  the  better!  Now,  you  know, 
Edith,  it  was  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and  /  should 
have  thought  —  !  They  talk  so  much  about  thrift  and  econ- 
omy —  !  However,  of  course,  your  father  knows,"  she  said 
to  her  younger  daughter,  in  some  perplexity.  ''  I  was  glad 
he  told  me,  because  that  always  makes  me  sure  of  domg 
right,  and  I  want  to  do  right.  Still  —  Do  you  know,  I'm 
sometimes  afraid  your  father  is  overworking  —  I'm  afraid 
he'll  have  brain-fag,  or  break  down  in  some  awful  way.  Now 
laying  waste,  simply  laying  waste  'Journey's  End'  —  you 
haven't  been  there,  you  can't  imagine  what  it  looks  like.  And 
he  used  to  be  so  fond  of  it!  The  gardens  are  practically 
destroyed  —  just  a  few  clumps  of  hardy  flowers  left.  It's  a 
great  deprivation  to  all  those  people  that  used  to  come  in 
such  crowds ;  the  place  was  as  good  as  a  horticultural  show 
to  them  without  their  having  to  pay  a  cent.  I  said  to  your 
father  that  I  thought  keeping  it  that  way  for  the  poor  things 
as  well  as  for  ourselves  was  a  real  work  of  charity  and  self- 
sacrifice,  but  he  only  laughed." 

''  They  were  mostly  summer  visitors,  and  all  the  resorts 
around  there  were  closed,"  said  Edith.  ''  There  wouldn't 
have  been  anybody  to  come  and  see.  You  used  to  complain 
about  them  a  good  deal." 

"  Oh,  but  now  it's  different.  One  wants  to  do  one's  bit. 
There  are  quantities  and  quantities  of  carrots  and  cabbages 
and  all  those  things  in  market  all  the  time,  and  hardly  any- 
body ever  buys  them;  a  greengrocer  told  me  nobody  liked 
them,  and  they  fed  them  to  the  pigs  often.  I  don't  see  the 
use  of  growing  so  many,"  objected  the  older  lady,  practically. 
"  But  your  father  seems  to  have  gone  perfectly  wild  on  the 
subject.  You  don't  know  half  the  things  he's  done,  Edith,  or 
you  would  be  as  worried  as  I  am.    When  we  had  that  very 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  293 

cold  weather  and  there  was  so  much  trouble  about  getting 
coal,  he  telegraphed  to  McCrae  and  actually  ordered  him  to 
let  all  the  fires  go  out  for  the  greenhouse  boilers,  and  send 
word  around  the  country  to  all  the  Clam  Beach  people  and 
everybody  to  come  and  take  the  coal,  all  they  needed!  Of 
course  McCrae  dared  not  disobey,  and  so  everything  froze  — 
all  those  orchids  and  wonderful  things  that  he's  spent  years 
in  collecting.    Every  single  thing  was  ruined !  " 

''  Did  Dad  do  that,  did  he?  "  cried  out  Edith.  Her  thin, 
sharp  face  warmed  and  softened  indescribably.  "  That  was 
fine!  He  loved  them  so.  That  was  great!  That  cost  him 
something!  " 

"  Indeed  they  did  cost  something,"  said  Mrs.  Rudd,  not 
entirely  grasping  the  other's  meaning.  "  He  gave  simply 
fabulous  prices  for  those  plants  —  not  to  mention  keeping  up 
the  greenhouses.     It  was  frightful!  " 

''  Well,  now  there  won't  be  any  of  that  expense  any  more, 
so  you  see  it's  all  for  the  best,"  said  Edith,  without  a  hint  of 
mischief  appearing  on  her  ably-governed  features.  If  her 
mother  amused  her  at  times,  she  conscientiously  refrained 
from  showing  it;  Edith,  on  the  whole,  was  a  humane  person. 
Mrs.  Rudd  was  indeed  visibly  staggered  for  a  second  by  this 
unexpected  viewpoint,  then  she  went  on  with  her  argument. 

"  Yes,  but  —  but  —  He  could  perfectly  well  have  had  a 
carload  of  coal  sent  up  there,  if  he  wanted  to  help  the  people. 
It  might  have  taken  a  few  days,  but  they  could  have  waited. 
It's  these  things  that  he  does  occasionally,  not  all  the  time, 
of  course,  that  makes  me  uneasy.  Now  he's  talking  about 
going  to  Washington  and  going  into  some  of  that  Govern- 
ment work  w^here  they  get  a  dollar  a  year,  you  know.  He 
seems  determined  to  give  up  everything  he  has!  " 

''Oh,  not  everything  surely !  He  will  leave  enough  for  you 
to  manage  the  house  and  dress  yourself  and  keep  a  few 
servants  and  two  of  the  cars,  anyhow.  Dad  doesn't  want 
you  to  go  without  the  necessaries  of  life,  I'm  sure,"  said 
Edith  as  before;  but  this  time  she  surveyed  the  older  lady 
with  a  certain  lazy  curiosity. 

"  No,  of  course  not !  He  thinks  it's  patriotic,  I  suppose  — 
but  he  doesn't  need  to  be  so  extreme/* 

"  What  does  Uncle  Elihu  say?  " 


294  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

"  Well,  I  thought  he  seemed  rather  doubtful.  He's  much 
more  conservative  than  your  father,  anyhow.  He  didn't 
say  much  one  way  or  the  other  —  just  that  it  was  all  right 
if  your  father  could  stand  it  —  the  terrific  strain.  Everyone 
says  it's  a  terrific  strain."  Mrs.  Rudd's  fair  face,  which  was 
beginning  to  wither  delicately  as  a  Testout  rose,  quivered 
slightly.  ''  I  think  we're  giving  enough  —  Steve  and  George 
and  all  those  Liberty  Bonds,  and  now  your  father  —  if  he 
breaks  down  —  " 

"He's  not  going  to.  Mother.  Never  mind!  Nobody's 
going  to  be  killed  or  break  down  or  go  to  the  poorhouse.  It's 
going  to  come  out  all  right!  "  Edith  assured  her  comfortingly, 
"■  Father  just  wants  to  be  in  it,  you  know.  Everybody's  in 
it.  One  has  to  be.  You  know  how  that  is! ''  she  added, 
measuring  her  words  to  the  other's  understanding  and  char- 
acter with  unerring  judgment.  She  was  really  sorry  for  her 
mother,  after  a  fashion. 

"  Yes,  if  everybody  does,  of  course  —  "  Mrs.  Rudd  sighed, 
brightening  nevertheless.  "  Those  horrible  Germans,  why 
couldn't  they  —  ?  Edith,  I've  never  spoken  to  you  about  it 
before,  but  I  should  think  it  would  make  you  perfectly 
happy  if  you  could  hear  of  Captain  Gherardi's  being  k  —  at 
least,  I  mean  being  taken  prisoner  or  —  or  something,"  she 
amended  hurriedly,  rather  fearfully. 

But  Edith  did  not  seem  to  be  offended  or  repelled;  she 
considered,  turning  the  wedding-ring  which  she  had  never 
taken  off,  with  her  long,  strong,  supple  fingers.  "  No,  I 
wouldn't  be  happy  to  hear  of  Rudolph's  death.  There're 
things  in  the  world  that  are  ever  so  much  worse  than  dying ; 
and  other  things  that  are  ever  so  much  more  important  than 
living.  I  don't  wish  Rudolph  or  any  of  them  any  evil.  I  had 
the  best  of  them,  as  it  was;  I  beat  them  out.  They  know  I 
beat  them.  That  was  all  I  cared  about,"  said  Edith,  looking 
like  Grandfather  David  transiently.  ''I  don't  feel  as  if  I 
would  ever  care  very  much  about  anything  again." 

**  We  thought  —  we  hoped  —  perhaps  Colonel  —  "  mur- 
mured her  mother,  and  could  get  no  further,  aghast  at  her 
own  temerity  in  getting  thus  far.  Edith,  however,  in  her  sur- 
prising way,  took  up  the  unfinished  sentence  with  a  detached 
and  tranquil  good  humor. 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  295 

"  You  thought  perhaps  Colonel  Dulaney  and  I  would 
begin  all  over  again?  No,  I'm  afraid  all  that  is  done  with  for 
me.  Finished  —  out  of  my  life  for  good  and  all.  It's  a  pity. 
But  one  can  get  along  without  it,  you  know,  Mother.  It's 
not  everything  —  it's  not  the  whole  of  life." 

Mrs.  Rudd  sighed  again.  ^'  Well !  We  couldn't  help  hoping 
—  we  like  him  so  much  —  and  he's  quite  celebrated  now. 
But  you  always  know  your  own  mind."  With  which  Mrs. 
Lawson  —  who  had  been  commissioned  by  Hester  and  was 
moreover  keenly  anxious  herself  to  find  out  how  the  old 
romance  stood,  whether  "  he  "  had  "  asked  "  Edith  once 
more,  and  how  she  had  answered  —  discreetly  abandoned  the 
enterprise,  plunging  into  other  subjects  —  the  Red  Triangle, 
Edith's  war- work  and  what-not. 

Hester,  by  the  way,  was  also  engaged  in  war-work.  Why 
not,  since  "  everybody  "  was  in  it?  Hester  had  the  most 
fetching  olive-drab  uniform  imaginable,  fitted  to  a  nicety  by 
the  best  tailor  in  New  York,  and  worn  with  a  visored  cap  and 
little  stout  boots,  in  which  she  went  down-town  every  day  — 
when  the  weather  was  decent  and  she  got  up  early  enough  — 
to  study  wireless  telegraphy.  She  belonged  to  Volunteer 
Radio  Corps,  Unit  Number  One.  The  course  presented 
monumental  difficulties  which,  however,  she  was  in  process  of 
overcoming  with  the  assistance  of  every  male  instructor  in 
the  school.  One  and  all  they  took  the  greatest  interest  in 
her,  much  more  than  in  any  of  the  other  pupils;  these  she 
reported  to  be  about  evenly  divided  between  "  weird  "  young 
women  in  lingerie  waists,  cheap  furs  and  excruciating  high 
heels,  and  "  weird  "  middle-aged  ones  in  run-down  clothes  as 
far  behind  the  mode  as  the  others  were  in  advance  of  it. 
Hester  thought  both  types  distinctly  common,  and  so,  she 
opined,  did  the  men;  at  least,  these  latter  did  not  take  any 
trouble  to  show  them  as  they  constantly  did  Hester.  For 
that  matter  all  the  common  ones,  the  ex-public-school-teach- 
ers, ex-shop-girls,  ex-stenographers,  and  so  on,  seemed  to 
learn  their  business  —  and  incidentally  to  mind  it  —  with 
characteristically  common  ease  and  rapidity.  They  were  all 
emphatically  "  on  the  job  "  —  a  phrase  of  theirs  which  Hes- 
ter delighted  to  quote. 

And  who  so  happy  and  devoted  nowadays  as  the  Stillman 


296  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

couple,  Hester  in  her  uniform  and  George  in  his?  We  may 
believe  that  honest  George,  who  had  rushed  up  to  Fort 
Benjamin  Harrison  within  a  week  of  our  declaration  of 
war,  with  no  idea  in  his  head  other  than  that  which  took 
scores  of  loyal  and  conscientious  men  there,  namely:  a  real 
feeling  for  his  country  and  desire  to  do  his  duty  —  we  may 
believe,  I  say,  that  George  was  as  much  astonished  at  the 
reconciliation  and  as  unable  to  account  for  it  as  any  out- 
sider and  on-looker.  It  signified  nothing  to  him  that  Society 
had  collapsed,  and  that  Patriotism  had  become  ultra-fash- 
ionable. He  only  knew  that  Hester  was  divinely  sweet,  as 
she  had  been  in  the  days  before  they  were  married,  and  on 
their  honeymoon.  No  more  denials,  disappointments,  small 
hatefulnesses,  teapot-tempests;  it  was  heaven!  And  she 
looked  so  pretty  in  her  olive-drab;  she  was  so  adorably  ab- 
surd with  her  radio  unit,  her  anti-Kaiser,  anti- autocracy, 
anti-frightfulness  enthusiasm!  As  for  Hester  herself,  she 
was  perfectly  sincere ;  her  patriotism  was  as  genuine  a  senti- 
ment as  any  she  ever  harbored  in  her  life.  All  her  friends' 
husbands  were  enlisting ;  it  was  Lieutenant  This  and  Captain 
That  at  every  turn;  to  be  an  officer's  wife  —  maybe  an 
officer's  widow,  quietly  distinguished  in  mourning  with  those 
universally  becoming  sheer  white  collars  and  cuff-bands !  — 
was  dramatic,  picturesque,  le  dernier  cri.  And  George  made 
a  fine,  soldierly  figure  in  his  uniform,  shouting  orders  on 
the  parade-ground  in  a  voice  of  thrilling  authority!  He 
had  no  occasion  these  days  to  complain  that  his  wife  would 
go  nowhere  with  him;  when  he  was  home  on  furlough  he 
could  not  stir  a  foot  without  her.  During  the  first  months 
of  his  military  apprenticeship  she  followed  him  to  Chilli- 
cothe,  to  Louisville,  to  Montgomery,  setting  up  successive 
establishments  with  a  cortege  of  servants  and  household 
goods  which  would  have  bankrupted  any  "  poor  lieutenant  " 
—  Hester's  favorite  style  of  referring  to  their  status  —  in  a 
week.  It  was  only  upon  his  appointment  to  Camp  Hope 
where  the  ground  had  scarcely  been  broken  for  the  can- 
tonments, and  there  was  not  a  habitable  house  to  be  had 
for  love  or  money,  that  she  was  persuaded  to  remain  at 
home.  Bless  thee.  Bottom,  thou  art  translated !  George  was 
radiant,  even  though  more  or  less  bewildered;  he  seriously 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  297 

thought  of  remaining  in  the  service  after  the  War  was  over. 

Notwithstanding  his  wife's  fears  and  predictions,  of  which 
he  made  kind-hearted  and  reassuring  fun,  Lawson  did  go 
into  the  Government  employment  at  that  official  wage  which 
caused  Mrs.  Lawson  to  look  upon  the  proceeding  as  an  in- 
comprehensible vagary  on  both  sides  —  the  United  States' 
and  her  husband's.  A  dollar  a  year!  Why  not  be  sensible 
and  ask  and  receive  a  salary  worthy  of  the  head  of  the  Rudd 
Chemical  Company?  Everybody  was  talking  about  the 
enormous  sums  the  Government  was  paying  to  mechanics, 
shipwrights,  day-laborers,  and  all  that  class ;  but  it  appeared 
that  gentlemen  would  work  for  nothing.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Rudd 
was  not  the  only  person  to  be  struck  by  this  phenomenon. 
*'  Lawson  even  pays  his  own  especial  stenographer  out  of  his 
own  pocket.  I  believe  he  would  have  provided  all  the  rest 
of  the  office-force  and  rented  the  office  too,  only  he  has  to 
be  with  the  other  heads  of  departments  in  the  Government 
building,  or  else  travelling  from  one  end  of  the  country  to 
the  other,"  Mrs.  Rudd  said.  She  would  have  followed  him 
about,  taking  a  leaf  out  of  Hester's  book,  if  he  had  allowed 
it.  "  But  when  he  has  to  stay  in  New  York  at  headquarters, 
he's  with  Edith,  and  that  keeps  me  from  worrying.  Eh? 
My  dear,  I  don't  know.  I  never  have  understood  a  thing 
about  Mr,  Rudd's  business.  He's  not  wdth  the  Food  Admin- 
istration, though;  it's  something  else,  the  Bureau  of  Distri- 
bution and  Assignment,  I  believe.  No,  he  doesn't  wear  a 
uniform,  and  he's  not  a  major  or  anything.  He  could  have 
been,  but  the  idea  seemed  to  amuse  him." 

It  may  have  had  ironic  aspects  of  which  Mrs.  Lawson  was 
ignorant;  Lawson  sometimes  surveyed  himself  and  his 
patriotic  activities  rather  grimly.  Financially  he  was  giv- 
ing up  a  good  deal  —  what  would  have  been  a  sizable  fortune 
to  many  men;  physically  the  work  was  a  strain,  serving 
notice  on  him  every  day  that  he  was  no  longer  a  young  man, 
that  he  was  even  getting  past  middle-age;  morally,  he  did 
not  know  whether  he  was  trying  to  satisfy  the  desire  to 
square  a  long  overdue  account  —  which,  alas,  could  never  be 
squared  for  all  his  efforts  —  or  whether  he  might  not  have 
done  the  same  thing,  if  David  Rudd  and  his  nefarious  qui- 
nine had  never  existed.    "  I  don't  want  any  credit  for  the 


298  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

little  I'm  doing.  It's  nothing  more  than  what  I  ought  to  do, 
and  what  hundreds  of  other  men  in  my  position  are  doing," 
he  said  to  his  friend  Stillman  with  energy.  "  Every  man  in 
the  country  must  get  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel,  in  one  way 
or  another.    I  don't  want  any  credit  for  it." 

''Don't  worry,  Lawson,  you're  not  going  to  get  any!" 
said  old  John,  grinning  a  grin  full  of  humor  and  worldly 
wisdom.  ''  You're  too  rich.  Any  man  with  all  the  money 
you  have  or  are  supposed  to  have,  is  next  door  to  a  rascal, 
and  if  he  goes  to  work  for  Uncle  Sam,  it's  only  because  he's 
—  what's  this  new  word  they're  using  all  the  time?  —  Cam- 
ouflage? He's  only  camouflaging.  If  you  don't  believe  me, 
go  and  ask  these  Socialists  and  I.  W.  W.'s  and  friends  of 
Labor,  and  the  rest  of  the  pop-eyes." 

The  railroads  had  all  passed  under  Government  control 
by  this  date,  so  Mr.  Stillman  might  presumably  have  been 
without  a  care  or  a  responsibility;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  worked  as  indefatigably  and  to  as  good  purpose  as  ever. 
The  two  old  friends  used  to  meet  at  luncheon,  which  was  a 
simple  function  nowadays,  nobody  having  time  for  anything 
but  simplicity.  Lawson  had  always  been  a  man  of  plain 
tastes  in  the  matter  of  eating,  and  as  for  John,  it  reminded 
him  of  the  days  when  he  was  a  ticket-seller  behind  the  little 
wire  window  in  the  dirty,  ill-lighted  railroad  office  down  on 
Third  Street  where  the  Kentucky  Bridge  came  in;  to  grab 
his  hat  and  run  across  the  street  to  the  chop-house,  to  climb 
on  a  tall  stool  and  bolt  down  a  piece  of  pie  and  a  cup  of 
coffee,  exchanging  light  banter  with  the  waitress  mean- 
while, were  no  novelties  to  John  Stillman.  He  re- 
marked that  these  cafeterias  were  cleaner  and  better  run 
and  that  the  stuff  they  served  was  of  better  quality  than 
on  Third  Street  forty-five  years  ago ;  his  own  appetite  had 
not  fallen  off  greatly,  considering.  Lawson's  youth  had 
lacked  these  experiences,  a  fact  on  which  the  other  used  to 
rally  him  sometimes.  ''You  were  one  of  these  gilt-edged 
boys,  old  man  Rudd's  son.  But  you  didn't  turn  out  so  badly 
after  all.    You're  a  pretty  fair  average  American." 

"Average  yourself,  and  see  how  you  like  it!"  Lawson 
would  retort,  and  then  both  would  laugh  as  if  they  had  ut- 
tered consummate  wit! 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  299 

But  it  was  the  truth ;  the}-  were  average  Americans.  Not 
for  all  the  money  they  had  made,  not  even  to  be  young  again, 
would  they  have  exchanged  the  privilege  of  living  and  being 
Americans  in  these  times.  Fears,  regrets,  uncertainties  and 
forebodings  would  have  been  proper  to  their  age;  they 
felt  none,  sharing  to  the  full  the  astounding  national  confi- 
dence. They  complained  bitterly  of  costs,  yet  paid 
promptly ;  found  acrimonious  fault  with  the  Administration, 
but  obeyed  it  to  the  letter.  They  were  ashamed  of  the  heroic 
clap-trap  that  was  being  mouthed  on  all  sides,  yet  perceived 
that  it  veiled  some  organic  truth,  solemn  and  enduring.  As 
close  as  they  were  to  each  other,  they  were  quite  inarticulate 
about  their  own  brave  deeds,  or  hinted  at  them  with  the  de- 
liberate levity  practised  by  their  race  when  most  in  earnest; 
nor  could  anything  have  better  displayed  their  average- 
Americanism. 

It  was  one  day  after  he  had  been  out  at  one  of  those 
luncheons,  going  and  coming  with  an  indiscriminate  mob  of 
office-boys,  office-girls,  elevator-men,  mechanics  and  clerks 
in  the  democratic  companionship  which  was  becoming  more 
and  more  popular  nowadays,  that  Lawson,  sitting  down  to 
his  desk,  presently  became  aware  of  some  stir  at  his  door; 
his  stenographer  —  it  was  the  faithful  Miss  Parker,  not 
quite  so  young  as  she  used  to  be,  but  capable  as  ever  —  gave 
a  slight  scream.  There  was  a  young  man  in  uniform  on  the 
threshold,  no  unusual  sight  about  the  Government  offices, 
where  uniforms  outnumbered  civilian  suits  ten  to  one;  but 
Lawson,  turning  around  at  the  noise,  started  up  and  his 
swivel- chair  trundled  backwards,  skreaking. 


CHAPTER  XV 

BOTH  father  and  son  had  undoubtedly  rehearsed  what 
they  meant  to  say,  how  they  would  greet  each  other 
when  they  should  meet  again,  many  times  over,  and 
were  letter-perfect  in  their  parts.  But  neither  could  get  out, 
or  for  that  matter  remember  a  single  word  of  his  carefully- 
studied  speech.  Instead,  after  an  instant  of  silence,  Mr. 
Rudd  executed  a  clumsy  parody  of  a  salute,  with  the  wrong 
hand,  and  Steven  said:  *^  Hello,  Dollar-a-Day!  "  And  they 
shook  hands;  and  there  the  formalities  ended.  Miss 
Parker,  who  was  not  without  tact,  slipped  out  quietly  as  they 
sat  down  together;  moreover,  she  stood  guard  outside  the 
door  for  half  an  hour,  fabricating  prodigious  stories  about 
the  importance  of  the  interview  to  whomsoever  applied  to 
see  Mr.  Rudd.  ''  I  guess  the  Lord  won't  lay  those  few  little 
white  lies  up  against  my  record,"  she  said  recklessly.  "  It 
was  important,  anyway.  His  own  son,  all  the  boy  he's  got, 
going  over  there  to  fight !  And  they  hadn't  seen  each  other 
in  five  years!  " 

Lawson  put  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder.  '^  Is 
that  a  lieutenant's  bar  you've  got  on,  Steve?  '^ 

"  Yes,  sir.    First." 

His  father  put  on  his  eyeglasses  and  examined  the  first 
lieutenant's  insignia  gravely.  Steve's  shoulder  felt  big  and 
strong  under  the  khaki.  "  I  think  you've  filled  out  a  good 
deal.  You're  broader  in  the  shoulders  than  when  —  than 
you  used  to  be.  Is  that  the  training,  or  were  you  getting  that 
way,  anyhow?  " 

Steven  said  he  believed  it  was  both ;  he  soberly  reached  out 
and  felt  his  father's  arm.  They  were  really  exchanging  a 
caress,  though  either  would  have  died  sooner  than  admit  it. 
''  I'm  built  something  like  you.  Dad.  I  daresay  you  were 
just  about  the  same  size  at  my  age."  He  paused  a  moment. 
"  You  knew  I'd  gone  in,  didn't  you?  " 

300 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  301 

"  Oh,  yes.  From  Edith,  of  course.  And  I've  seen  your 
letters  to  your  mother."  It  was  Lawson's  turn  to  hesitate; 
then  he  said  diffidently:  "  I  was  glad  to  hear  that  you'd  en- 
listed, right  at  the  first,  before  there  was  any  talk  about  the 
draft." 

"  Well,  I  always  meant  to  go  if  we  got  into  the  War.  The 
drafted  men  are  all  right,  though.  They're  just  as  willing 
as  anybody.  They  want  to  get  over  there,  and  clean  up  the 
job,  and  get  back  home  as  quick  as  they  can,  just  the  same 
as  all  the  rest  of  us." 

"  We've  —  we've  been  rather  hoping,  Steven,  that  you 
might  not  be  needed  over  there,  after  all.  That  is,  we  were 
hoping  until  this  last  news  —  the  German  advance.  Things 
don't  look  very  well  just  now,  but  I  believe  it's  the  enemy's 
final  effort.    They  can't  keep  it  up  long  at  this  rate." 

'*  Well,  I'm  not  supposed  to  talk,  but  talking  to  you  ought 
not  to  count  —  you're  in  the  Service  yourself.  I'm  pretty 
sure  that  we'll  start  inside  of  another  twenty- four  hours. 
We've  got  orders  —  the  kind  they  always  give  just  before- 
hand." 

''Twenty-four  hours!  "  echoed  Lawson.  Had  the  words 
been  lead,  they  could  not  have  settled  heavier  on  his  heart. 
^'  Twenty-four  hours!  "  For  the  first  time  he  realized  what 
incalculable  agony  War  meant;  all  that  he  had  heard,  had 
read,  had  said  himself,  he  now  saw  as  so  much  idle  breath  — 
words,  words  —  meaningless  sound  and  fury.  He  wanted  to 
cry  out:  "  Here,  take  me!  I've  had  my  life.  Don't  waste 
my  son's!  He's  just  beginning.  At  any  rate,  don't  take  him 
now!    In  a  while  —  in  just  a  little  while  —  " 

Steven  went  on  talking;  he  w^as  cheerful  enough.  His 
father  had  observed  the  same  cheerfulness,  the  same  matter- 
of-fact  manner,  and  utter  absence  of  hysterical  enthusiasm 
in  all  the  young  fellows.  Was  it  because  they  were  young, 
and  didn't  realize,  he  queried  inwardly;  or  was  it  that  they 
were  young  and  did  realize?  They  called  it  a  job;  unspeak- 
able suffering,  irreparable  injury,  death  itself  would  be  inci- 
dental to  it  —  and  they  still  called  it  a  job. 

''  I've  written  to  tell  Mother,"  Steve  was  saying.  "  If 
we'd  had  a  little  longer  notice,  I  might  have  got  leave,  and 
seen  her,  or  she  might  have  come  on  here.    But  it's  too  late 


302  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

now.  We  have  to  say  good-by  the  night  before  anyhow, 
you  know.  They  won't  let  anybody  go  near  the  ships.  I  was 
glad  to  find  out  you  were  here,  though;  I  was  afraid  you 
might  be  off  somewhere,  and  then  I  wouldn't  see  you." 

"  Does  Edith  know?  " 

"  Oh  yes.  We  got  in  from  Camp  Dix  this  morning,  and 
I  went  up  and  told  her  the  first  thing." 

''  We'll  all  go  and  have  dinner  somewhere  to-night,  to  give 
you  a  send-off,"  said  Lawson,  with  assumed  heartiness,  emu- 
lating the  other's  philosophy  as  best  he  could. 

''  Well  —  er  — "  And  now  Steve's  manner  altered  so  mark- 
edly that  his  father  looked  at  him  in  new  wonder.  He  red- 
dened and  even  squirmed  in  obvious  embarrassment. 
Lawson  jumped  to  a  conclusion  with  an  activity  which  would 
have  done  credit  to  a  woman.  "  It's  some  girl,  of  course," 
he  thought  in  mingled  amusement,  sympathy  and  sadness. 
"  It's  natural,  it's  right.  I'm  only  his  father."  And  aloud: 
"  Made  another  engagement?  "  he  asked  easily. 

''  Why  —  I  —  no,  not  exactly,  but  —  " 

Here,  with  a  tap  on  the  door.  Miss  Parker  thrust  in  a  face 
of  mystery.  "  Mr.  Rudd  —  that  is,  both  Mr.  Rudds  — 
there's  a  young  lady  here  —  " 

"  A  youQg  lady?  " 

"  I  told  her  to  come.  We  both  decided  she'd  better  meet 
me  here,  so  as  to  save  time,"  Steve  cried;  and  they  rose  auto- 
matically as  Miss  Parker  ushered  in  Miss  Mary  Ballard. 

She  had  on  some  kind  of  a  uniform,  too,  that  of  a  Red 
Cross  nurse,  Lawson  guessed,  though,  in  the  confusion  of  his 
other  guesses,  he  could  be  sure  of  nothing  except  that  she 
looked  very  rosy  and  pretty  and  smiling  and  appealing. 
"  Engaged?  Why,  great  Scott,  they  were  going  to  be  mar- 
ried !  Steven  had  nailed  a  minister  and  he  had  the  license  in 
his  pocket  all  the  time,"  he  said  afterwards,  in  giving  an 
account  of  these  bewildering  happenings.  "  Hey?  Ask  my 
blessing?  Ask  nothing!  If  there  was  a  thing  on  earth  they 
could  get  along  without  it  was  my  blessing.  They  just 
thought  they'd  drop  in  and  let  me  know  about  it  so  that  I 
could  go  to  the  wedding  if  I  liked.  Most  casual  proceeding 
I  ever  witnessed.  But  that's  the  way  young  people  were 
doing  in  those  war  times;  and  after  all,  it's  their  business, 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  303 

they  are  the  persons  most  concerned.  I  don't  know  if  Steve 
and  Mary  were  even  engaged  at  all.  They'd  known  each 
other  a  long  while,  and  I  rather  think  they  suddenly  found 
out  that  they  cared  too  much  for  each  other  to  separate 
without  —  without  a  definite  settlement,  in  short;  Steve's 
going  precipitated  matters.  It  was  a  real  war-wedding,  if 
ever  there  was  one.  Nothing  to  it  at  all ;  easiest  thing  in  the 
world;  you  put  on  your  hat  and  go  around  the  corner  and 
get  married!  " 

He  could  not  remember  later  the  exact  order  of  events  in 
the  hurry  of  this  helter-skelter  day ;  all  the  conventional  pre- 
liminaries to  a  wedding  went  by  the  board.  His  own  prep- 
arations actually  did  entail  no  greater  thought  and  effort 
than  taking  his  hat  and  going  out  with  the  pair  of  them.  He 
heard  Steven  pressing  ]\Iiss  Parker  to  go !  And  he  heard  her 
reply  with  unquestionably  sincere  regret  that  oh,  my,  Mr. 
Steven,  she'd  like  to  the  worst  way,  but  she  just  couldn't,  she 
had  so  much  to  do,  she  wasn't  the  boss  like  Mr.  Rudd;  but 
anyways,  she'd  think  hard  of  both  of  'em  at  half-past-three 
(didn't  he  say  that  was  when  it  was  set  for? )  and  she  wished 
them  just  all  the  happiness  in  the  world,  and  —  and  —  and 
he's  going  to  come  back  to  you,  Miss  Ballard,  don't  you  be- 
lieve he  ain't  for  a  minute!  She  was  giggling  hysterically 
and  wiping  her  eyes  at  the  same  time,  as  she  ended.  Lawson 
had  never  thought  of  Miss  Parker  otherwise  than  as  a  won- 
derfully dependable  and  satisfactory  machine  for  which  he 
had  the  kindly  feeling  which  we  all  have  for  good  machines; 
he  paid  her  handsomely,  was  punctiliously  polite,  sent  to 
inquire  when  she  had  a  sick  day,  and  remembered  her  with 
a  substantial  cheque  and  a  box  of  candy  every  Christmas. 
But  Miss  Parker,  as  a  guest  of  his  —  at  his  son's  wedding! 
What  would  Mrs.  Lawson  have  said?  But  why  not,  Lawson 
asked  himself  in  sudden  impatience,  in  Heaven's  name,  why 
not?  All  at  once  he  remembered  the  little  service-pin  on 
the  front  of  Miss  Parker's  plain  blouse,  and  that  she  had  a 
brother  or  nephew  in  the  army ;  just  such  another  young  man 
as  Steve,  no  doubt,  just  such  another  straight-eyed,  practi- 
cal unheroically  heroic  young  man,  who  might  easily  be 
Steven's  superior  ofiicer. 

As  they  stepped  out  of  the  elevator,  there  was  Edith,  lall, 


304  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

homely,  elegant,  a  little  excited  for  her,  in  a  smart  spring 
suit  and  furs,  with  violets  in  her  corsage,  standing  at  the  edge 
of  the  sidewalk  by  the  door  of  an  almost  unbelievably  splen- 
did automobile;  that  is  to  say,  its  splendors  would  have 
been  wholly  unbelievable,  had  they  not  been  duplicated  by 
another  drawn  up  a  little  farther  along  against  the  curb; 
even  case-hardened  New  York  brokers  and  bootblacks 
turned  in  passing  to  give  these  noble  vehicles  a  second  look. 
Mr.  Rudd  caught  sight  of  Miss  Burke  within  one  of  them 
and  of  Mrs.  Ball  —  No!  Great  Heavens,  what  was  her  new 
name?  —  with  a  man  of  about  his  own  age,  who,  it  did  not 
take  the  wisdom  of  Solomon  to  divine,  must  be  Mr.  Ball  — 
that  is,  the  new  one,  whatever  his  name  was.  But  Edith  was 
talking  to  the  occupants  of  the  other  motor-car,  a  neat, 
small,  dressy  gentleman  with  eyeglasses  and  a  pointed  beard, 
and  his  neat,  small,  dressy  wife  —  it  was  Marshall  Cook,  the 
novelist,  and  Mrs.  Cook,  who  used  to  be  Miss  Bessie  Grace. 
Lawson  forgot  and  called  her  Miss  Grace  as  they  shook 
hands.  It  appeared  that  the  Cooks,  being  in  New  York,  had 
just  happened  along  and  seeing  Edith,  stopped  to  chat;  they 
had  not  known  about  the  impending  event,  but  now  Steven 
asked  them,  and  Mary  joined  in! 

"We're  going  to  be  married  —  You're  just  in  time  —  Of 
course  it's  awfully  short  notice  —  but  we  didn't  have  any 
time  to  let  anybody  know,  and  we  can't  wait  —  Won't  you 
come?  I  wish  some  of  the  other  people  from  home  could  be 
here  —  There're  probably  plenty  of  them  in  town ;  if  we  run 
into  anybody  else,  we'll  ask  them."  They  performed  in 
chorus. 

The  Cooks  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  the  young  man 
and  girl;  it  was  impossible  to  see  or  hear  them  without 
warmth  stealing  around  the  heart.  "  Why  —  I  don't  know 
—  are  you  sure  you  want  us?  "  said  little  Mrs.  Cook.  "  Your 
own  families  —  ?  " 

"  They  aren't  here  —  only  Dad  and  Edith  —  Mrs. 
Gherardi.  It's  to  be  at  Saint  Simon's,  in  the  chapel  —  Why, 
right  away,  as  soon  as  we  can  get  there.  Do  come  —  oh, 
wait  a  minute!  You  make  them  come,  Mary!  "  The  pro- 
spective groom  dashed  off  after  another  young  officer  at  that 
moment  striding  by.    "  Kent!   I  say!   Oh,  Kent!  " 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  305 

Mr.  Rudd  found  himself  being  taken  up  to  the  other  auto- 
mobile and  being  introduced  to  Mr.  Sackett  —  in  a  perfect 
necktie;  and  addressing  the  lady  first  as  Mrs.  Backard,  and 
then,  correcting  himself,  as  Mrs.  Ballett.  Francie  Burke 
nodded  to  him,  smiling.  Steven  came  back  with  the  oflQcer,  a 
Captain  Kent. 

*'  He's  coming!  I  wish  I'd  had  time  to  get  some  of  the 
other  fellows.    I'm  in  his  company,  you  know.  Dad." 

The  captain  confided  to  Mr.  Rudd  seriously  that  it  was  the 
best  company  in  the  division.  Another  automobile  was 
called,  a  taxi  which  trailed  in  the  rear  of  the  other  two  like 
Cinderella  in  attendance  on  her  step-sisters;  and  presently 
they  were  all  in  the  little  chapel  of  Saint  Simon's  where  the 
decorations  from  some  recent  patriotic  celebration  were  still 
up,  the  colors  of  the  Allied  Nations  making  a  brave  show 
along  the  dark  carvings  of  the  choir-stalls  and  the  gallery. 
Their  party  did  not  fill  two  pews.  Captain  Kent  went  on 
duty  as  best  man.  Some  one  volunteered  for  the  organ,  a 
young  girl  in  the  trig  costume  of  the  Women's  Motor-Corps, 
the  minister's  daughter,  as  they  learned.  Mr.  Sackett  was 
to  give  the  bride  away;  Lawson  hoped  that  Steven  had  not 
forgotten  the  ring. 

He  thought  of  the  other  weddings  —  sibilant  crowds  fill- 
ing up  the  church,  the  overpowering  flowers,  his  wife's  dia- 
mond dog-collar,  the  house  redolent  of  roses,  champagne, 
hot  entrees,  an  occasional  whifT  of  gasolene  from  some  recal- 
citrant automobile  stalling  noisily  among  dozens  of  other 
motors  under  the  windows.  He  looked  around  on  their 
hastily  gathered  company,  the  plain  service-clothes,  the  flags 
grave  and  proud  overhead.  The  young  people  were  starting 
out  on  their  great  adventure,  high-hearted,  undismayed,  in 
the  shadow  of  the  greatest  adventure  men  had  ever  under- 
taken. Well,  that  was  right,  that  was  as  it  should  be;  we 
were  down  to  essentials  now.  Just  so  had  the  forefathers 
started  out.  Let  men  and  women  marry,  raise  up  children 
for  the  state,  hand  on  the  torch. 

It  took  less  than  ten  minutes,  being  shorn  of  those  cere- 
monious accompaniments  about  which  Lawson  had  been 
thinking.  They  all  shook  hands  and  there  was  some  kissing 
among  the  women.    In  the  vestibule,  Captain  Kent  excused 


306  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

himself  on  the  plea  that  he  had  an  appointment  with  the 
regimental  veterinarian  to  look  over  some  mules.  Mr.  Sack- 
ett  remarked  with  a  grin  that  a  military  man's  life  had  more 
variety  in  it  than  you'd  suppose!  "  It's  all  in  the  day's  work, 
heh?  Mules  and  weddings  and  guard-mount  and  revolver- 
practice,"  said  he.  "  And  ain't  it  queer,  anyhow,  how  we're 
all  of  us  ready  for  anything  nowadays?  We  take  whatever 
comes  along  and  don't  think  anything  of  it!  " 

They  went  down  the  steps ;  some  of  the  passers-by  looked 
up  and  smiled  broadly  at  the  strapping  young  soldier  and 
the  girl,  so  obviously  bride  and  groom,  and  half  a  dozen 
street-urchins  formed  in  line  raising  a  piping  cheer.  Law- 
son  scattered  a  handful  of  small  change  among  them.  "  Run 
along,  you  little  devils!  "  he  shouted  jovially.  He  was  de- 
terminedly sanguine;  everything  was  going  to  be  all  right; 
Steve  would  get  through  all  right.  "  I  don't  know  whether 
you  feel  it,"  he  said  to  the  two  older  men;  "  but  there  seems 
to  me  to  be  some  kind  of  big  irresistible  movement  all 
through  the  world,  something  unseen.  This  physical  force 
we're  all  exerting  wouldn't  get  anywhere  without  it.  Just 
as  if  the  combined  sense  of  right  of  all  the  people  in  the  world 
were  somehow  getting  into  action,  making  itself  felt  in  some 
'^^ay  —  ?  "  He  looked  at  the  others,  tentatively,  and  saw 
that  both  understood. 

*'  Going  through  everything  kind  of  like  yeast,  hey?  "  said 
Sackett,  smiling  himself  at  this  homely  figure.  "  That's 
so!" 

Cook  fingered  his  pointed  beard.  "  I  remember,"  he  said 
thoughtfully;  "reading  somewhere  in  Stevenson's  letters 
some  whim^sey  of  his  which  he  put  into  a  stage  direction:  ^  A 
stately  music.  Enter  God.'  Sometimes  I'm  reminded  of 
that  these  days  —  " 

Sackett  looked  rather  startled  at  the  reference.  "  I  don't 
quite  get  you,  Mr.  —  ?  I  think  a  lot  of  the  U.  S.  I'm  as  pa- 
triotic as  the  next  man,  I  hope.  But  I  wouldn't  say  that  our 
going  into  the  War  was  —  was  the  equivalent  of  the  —  the 
Almighty  —  " 

"  I  wouldn't  say  it,  either,"  said  Cook.  "  Something 
dramatic  about  it  struck  me,  that's  all." 

Neither  of  the  others  followed  this  subtlety,  though  Law- 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  307 

son,  who  had  an  imagination,  thought  he  glimpsed  something 
of  it.  But  Mr.  Sackott  good-naturedly  asserted  again  that 
he  didn't  get  the  idea.  "  You're  another  writer,  my  wife 
tells  me,"  he  said,  scrutinizing  the  little  man  closely  but 
without  offence.  "  They're  a  good  deal  alike.  Every  now 
:ind  then  they  say  things  a  person  don't  quite  get  on  to.  You 
put  me  in  mmd  of  the  other  Mr.  Rudd  —  "  here  he  glanced 
at  Lawson  expectantly  —  "  You  know  who  I  mean,  of 
course.    Every  now  and  then  he'd  talk  like  that." 

''  I  used  to  know  Eugene  Rudd,"  said  the  author.  "  He's 
over  there,  isn't  he?  "    He  too  looked  at  Lawson. 

''  Yes.  He  went  two  years  or  more  ago.  He  was  killed. 
It  was  at  Vimy  Ridge,  I  think  —  or  while  the  fighting  was 
going  on  in  that  part  of  the  country." 

All  three  felt  a  little  shocked  that  they  should  have  fallen 
upon  such  a  topic  at  such  a  moment,  and  cocked  an  eye 
apprehensively  towards  Mary.  "  He  was  an  interesting 
man.  He  wrote  very  well  —  those  articles  for  the  Planet  —  '' 
Cook  murmured  lamely. 

''  I  liked  him,"  said  Sackett.  It  was  all  the  epitaph 
Eugene  Rudd  ever  got;  possibly  he  would  not  have  asked 
any  better. 

They  went  and  had  a  luncheon  somewhere,  without  wine, 
on  account  of  Steve's  uniform.  For  that  matter,  wine  would 
have  contributed  only  a  little  to  their  spurious  gayety, 
Lawson  thought;  he  was  sure  that  every  member  of  the 
party,  except  the  bride  and  groom,  was  fighting  down  the 
same  depression  as  himself.  But  Steve  and  Mary  were 
happy;  they  were  as  happy  as  if  there  were  no  parting,  no 
war,  iao  horrid  chances  in  perspective.  It  was  the  attitude  of 
all  the  youth  of  the  country,  not  fatalistic,  not  resigned,  not 
spiritually  exalted,  simply  the  supreme  expression  of  com- 
mon-sense, right  feeling,  manliness  and  womanliness.  Age 
stood  puzzled  and  profoundly  abashed  before  it,  asking 
again  and  again  the  same  question:  do  they  know  what  they 
are  doing,  or  is  it  that  they  don't  know? 

It  seemed  to  Steven's  father  that  they  knew  very  well. 
"  I've  got  my  pay  and  there  are  no  personal  expenses  that 
amount  to  anything,  you  know,"  the  young  man  told  him  in 
their  one  moment  of  privacy.     "  That  will  take  care  of 


308  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

Mary  comfortablj^;  and  then  we're  all  insured.  She'll  get 
that,  of  course." 

"I  —  I  hope  not,  Steve,"  said  Lawson  miserably,  almost 
in  a  groan. 

Steven  looked  for  an  instant  as  if  he  did  not  understand; 
then  he  laughed.  ''  Why,  I  hope  not  myself.  Dad!  But  it'll 
be  all  right,  whatever  happens!  " 

This  was  really  the  last  word  they  had  together ;  the  wed- 
ding-party separated  shortly  after,  the  guests  moved  by  a 
humane  desire  to  let  the  young  things  have  some  time  to 
themselves.  Mr.  Rudd,  in  his  position,  might  without  doubt 
by  some  energetic  manipulations  have  got  permission  to 
see  his  son  aboard  ship,  but  Lawson  made  no  effort  that 
way.  "  Who  am  I  that  I  should  be  favored  more  than  other 
fathers?  "  he  thought  humbly.  There  was  a  strange  comfort 
in  sharing  the  common  heartache.  The  transport  was  the 
Leviathan  erstwhile  the  Vaterland,  and  she  lay  at  her  pier, 
with  her  four  great  funnels  in  sight  from  Lawson's  office- 
w^indow,  strongly  guarded,  to  be  sure,  but  making  ready  for 
departure  before  the  eyes  of  all  the  world,  as  if  hostile  spies 
and  plotters  had  never  existed.  They  learned  she  was  to 
sail  at  noon  the  following  day. 

"  Must  make  the  Germans  mighty  sore  to  think  of  that 
two-million-dollar  boat  taking  our  troops  over  by  the  thou- 
sands! "  Sackett  observed  with  relish.  "  Maybe  they  won't 
want  to  blow  a  hole  in  her  because  of  the  two  million.  But 
if  I  was  in  Uncle  Sam's  place  I  wouldn't  take  quite  so  many 
chances  on  'em;  no  use  making  it  easy  for  'em,  anyhow.  The 
boats  have  been  going  out  of  here  in  broad  daylight,  loaded 
to  the  guards  with  our  boys,  bands  playing  and  flags  flying, 
and  the  whole  town  turning  out  to  see  them  go.  You'd  think 
with  all  this  talk  of  enemy  aliens  and  bombs  and  so  on,  the 
authorities  would  keep  it  quieter." 

"  You  don't  know  where  they  go  after  they  get  through 
The  Narrows,  though,"  somebody  said.  ''  Nobody  knows 
but  the  captain  and  the  Navy  Department,  they  say.  Uncle 
Sam  has  the  whole  business  pretty  well  thought  out." 

The  office-day  was  over,  and  Lawson  went  with  Edith 
back  to  her  apartment;  and  was  presently  sitting  down  to 
table  with  her  in  her  tiny  dining-room,  about  which  there 


FROM  FATHER  TO  SON  309 

was  that  modish  austerity  of  which  she  alone  had  the  secret. 
Father  and  daughter  rigidly  adhered  to  their  social  code, 
appearing  in  evening-dress,  and  going  through  the  pre- 
scribed ritual  of  their  class,  for  which  neither  one  of  them 
at  heart  cared  a  jot.  "  We  mustn't  break  up  our  regular 
habits  just  because  we  all  happen  to  be  doing  things  we've 
never  done  before,"  the  young  woman  said  inflexibly.  And 
it  was  a  fact  that  the  small  ceremonies  of  their  daily  life 
somehow  tranquillized  them  at  a  time  like  this.  After  dinner 
she  made  his  cofTee  with  the  dash  of  orange- juice  and  burnt 
brandy  that  he  liked,  and  Lawson  resolutely  smoked  a  cigar 
that  seemed  tasteless,  and  they  talked  about  the  day's  news 
Irom  the  Front. 

In  the  morning  there  arrived  an  excited  telegram  from 
Hester  and  a  night-letter  from  Mrs.  Rudd.  Lawson  said 
he  would  give  them  to  Mary  after  —  after  everything  was 
over;  that  would  be  better  than  breaking  in  upon  them  now 
in  their  last  hour  or  so  together.  Time  enough  when  Steve 
had  gone.  He  walked  down  to  the  office,  taking  for  a  good 
omen  the  bright,  blowing  spring  day ;  and  he  went  up  to  his 
own  desk  and  signalled  for  Miss  Parker,  who  came  in  dry 
and  quick  and  business-like  as  usual ;  and  they  got  to  work 
with  their  ordinary  greetings.  The  morning  wore  along; 
once  in  a  while  there  would  be  a  burst  of  noise,  martial 
music  and  hurrahing  in  the  street  twelve  or  fifteen  stories 
below;  the  offices  were  used  to  such  demonstrations  these 
days.    But  at  noon,  Lawson  got  up  and  went  to  the  window. 

The  four  funnels  were  gone;  the  ship  was  out  of  her  berth, 
in  mid-stream,  moving  slowly.  He  stood  awhile  watching 
her;  a  number  of  the  oSice-force  congregated  at  other  win- 
dows, and  somebody  came  and  offered  him  a  pair  of  field- 
glasses.  "  You  can  see  them  real  plain,  Mr.  Rudd,  not  the 
faces,  of  course,  but  you  can  see  the  crowd  on  the  decks  —  " 
Lawson  shook  his  head.  He  stood  and  watched  in  a  haze  of 
unrelated  fancies  and  recollections.  His  brother  David's 
face  when  he  left  a  good-by  for  the  family  —  fragments  of 
patriotic  speeches,  Lincoln's,  Patrick  Henry's,  that  he  had 
recited  school-afternoons  when  he  was  a  boy  —  "  Lafayette, 
we  are  here!  "  —  Eugene,  poor  fellow,  meeting  death  by  a 
treacherous  trick  —  Steven,  at  ten  years  old,  getting  off  his 
pony  to  give  McCrae's  lame  boy  a  ride  — 


310  FROM  FATHER  TO  SON 

A  band  in  the  street  struck  up  "  Over  There  "  blaring 
raucously.  A  stately  music!  Lawson  almost  smiled,  but 
he  remembered  the  rest  of  it.  Enter  —  f  The  funnels  were 
out  of  sight  now,  but  even  at  this  distance,  though  faintly, 
he  could  still  hear  the  cheering  as  the  transport  dropped 
down  the  bay. 

THE  END 


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